


happiness is a warm gun

by MardyBum394



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Music, Fluff and Angst, M/M, No Smut, Professor Harry Styles, Slow Build, Song Lyrics, boys except harry are a band together, cheating - not among the boys tho, harry wants to become a singer, music competition - freeform, past crush, sorry for the messy tags:)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-07-27 04:20:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 45,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20039824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MardyBum394/pseuds/MardyBum394
Summary: Harry, a uni professor, wants to become famous and starts by entering his name into a music competition. Louis is his friend from childhood, with whom they weren't really close, but for whom Harry used to have strong feelings. Louis, Niall, Liam and Zayn are a band without Harry, but they are not world-famous. Harry and Lou meet more than ten years after they last saw each other, and try to build up their friendship and remember what it was like to spend time together.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!:)  
I want to apologize in advance for possible mistakes and misconceptions about the music industry and how management and song competitions work ^^
> 
> The fic will be about 45 000 words, hope you enjoy! :)
> 
> Please don't hesitate to leave kudos or comments if you have anything to say about it!
> 
> Have a nice read,   
Ania xx

Harry felt one minute away from shitting himself.

He gripped his guitar tighter, strings leaving familiar indents on his fingertips. His cheeks were hot, his breath loud, but lost in the murmur of people around them. He looked at Olivia, standing to his right, and she smiled at him, her long brown hair catching the electric light from up above.

“Ready?” she whispered and raised her hand to the door handle. 

“Give me a kiss, please?” he said and she chuckled. She stood on her tiptoes and pecked him softly. She tasted of strawberry. “Right,” Harry said. “Let’s do it.”

She pushed the doors open and they entered a small room, walls as white as they were in the corridor. Harry now faced four people — two women and two men — behind a long table.

“Hi,” he said.

“We are Harry and Olivia, a duo,” said Olivia.

“Are you two a couple?” asked the woman to the right, her name tag read Jenna. She was smiling at them, looking from one to the other.

“Yep,” Harry said.

“Lovely. What are going to sing for us? It says here it is an original?”

“The song is called ‘Olivia’,” Harry said and saw the other woman smile, too. He was a fifteen-year old under their scrutiny. Olivia squeezed his fingers gently, and he breathed in a bit easier.

“Surprising,” murmered the man with a beard and long hair in a low bun, and Harry frowned. “No offence, mate,” he said, leaning back in his chair. 

“Can we start?” Olivia asked.

“High time you do,” said the last man, with his hands on the back of his head.

Harry held his breath and stroke the guitar once, twice, and on the third time Olivia started the first line, the room filling with her voice and Harry’s cords. He saw the judges’ faces relax into smiles — and breathed out. He remembered the swooping in his stomach when they entered their names all those weeks ago. It was a late afternoon, the snow was falling thick behind the window of their bedroom, the sun only just making it into the small room. He remembered his laptop glowing white against the red coverings of their bed, Olivia’s hand gripping his knee.

“We are doing it, babe,” she said then, turning to him with a smile. He kissed her instead of answering. When they parted, she said into his lips: “Shall we?”

“Yes, we shall,” he said, and clicked the enter button. It was done. They were in for an audition. The moment the confirmation appeared on the screen, she clapped her hands and reached for the phone.

“I’ll tell El, she’ll be ecstatic!” she said, and Harry laughed. He had the song ready, and after much blushing and kisses Olivia agreed to perform it. 

The song, right.

“I live for you, I long for you, Olivia. Don’t let me go,” he sang into the room, but his eyes were on her. She was looking back, her eyes the colour of caramel, always so warm and so, so soft. “I love you, it’s all I do,” he sang on.

When he finished, Jenna and the other woman applauded them, and Harry felt relief slowly spreading through his veins.

“Alright, you two. Watch out for an email with the decision sometime this week. We finish the auditions this Friday, so by that time you should be notified,” said the man with the beard, his tag read Julian.

“But I think you can definitely expect a ‘yes’,” said Jenna.

“Thank you,” Harry said, nodding. “Good luck with the rest,” he said, as Olivia found his hand again and pulled him towards the door.

“Thanks. Have a lovely Christmas!”

“You, too!”

The door closed behind them and Harry heaved a deep sigh. They leant against the opposite wall, which was cold against his hot skin, and he only now noticed how many people were actually in the corridor. His mind was finally clear.

“We did it,” he said, closing his eyes. He felt her arms snake around his neck, her lips on his cheek, the guitar pressed painfully between them.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you, too,” he said. “Let’s go?”

“I still can’t believe we did it! We’ll be on TV!” she said, literally jumping instead of walking. Harry took off his guitar and put it safely into its case, chuckling.

“Yeah. But it will be in the new year. If we get in, the first audition on telly is what? First week of January?”

“Yep,” she said, looking at her phone. “I think it’s a Friday, and it’s live, so… January the sixth.”

“Right. Can’t believe they are starting so early.”

“Well, it’s not that big of a show anyway,” she said, now typing something on the phone, smiling all the way.

“You texting Elouise?” Harry asked, as they pulled their coats on.

“Yep. I’ll invite her, shall I? We need to celebrate!” she jumped again, now heading toward the entrance.

“Sure. Want to get a pizza or something?”

“Oh, no, she says her tummy hurts after takeaways. We’ll cook something, okay?” she said, walking through the door that Harry was holding for her.

“You mean, I’ll cook something?” 

“You know you are the best at it, babe.”

“Alright, alright. How about pasta then? Will that upset her stomach, too?”

“You don’t want her to come?” Olivia raised her eyebrows, a second away from pouting.

“No, sorry, didn’t mean it like that,” he lied. “So what about pasta?”

“Yeah, she says it’s alright,” she looked back down at the screen at once. Harry sighed silently. Right. Cooking it is.

** **

They entered their little flat an hour later, Harry carrying a bag with groceries.

“I’ll go prepare for my classes tomorrow, yeah?” Olivia said as they undressed.

“You won’t even pretend to help me in the kitchen?” Harry said, bringing his hand to his heart in mock surprise. Olivia laughed and ruffled his hair.

“Sorry, babe, I really have to, or my students won’t have an exam,” she said as Harry smiled, shaking his head fondly.

“Alright, off you go, then.”

She left for their small bedroom and Harry leant his guitar against the wall in the dark hall and climbed the stairs to the kitchen. They a had a three-storey flat, with each floor the size of a room. They slept on the first one, ate on the second, and Harry had his study — which was basically an old sofa, a desk and a chair — on the third one. It was a lovely tiny place, which Harry first rented on his third year at uni and never had the heart to leave.

He unloaded his bag and put on his apron — a red one with white hearts, which Gemma got him for Christmas a few years ago — and his phone rang.

“Hi mum,” Harry said, smiling.

“How did it go?” she asked without greeting, and Harry chuckled.

“Really well. They said we can expect a ‘yes’, but no definite answer till this Friday.”

“Oh, thank goodness! I’m so happy for you, love!”

“Shh,” Harry said through a smile as he took out his pot from the cupboard. “We are not in yet, remember?”

“I’ll knock on wood for you,” she said, amused, and Harry chuckled quietly again. “Are you home now?” she asked.

“Yeah. Olivia is doing something for her tomorrow’s exam and I’m cooking.”

“You’ll celebrate, then?”

“Well, she invited El, so there’ll be three of us. But nothing fancy, I’m just making pasta,” Harry said as he was pouring water into the pot.

“Well, darling, your pasta is very delicious.”

“I learn from the best,” Harry said, putting a pot full of water onto the oven top. Mum chuckled.

“Well, then, have a nice evening. I’m very, very happy for you. Oh, and Gems asked you to give her a call, she is on her lunch break now, should be free.”

“Will do. And thanks, mum. Love you.”

“Love you, too, dear. Bye.”

Harry took out the cutting board and onions before calling his sister.

“Hey Gems.”

“Hi, H. Everything alright?”

“Yep,” he said, peeling the onions. “They said we did pretty well.”

“So they didn’t tell your songname was pathetic, then?”

“Disappointing as it may be to you, sister, no,” he said through another smile as he threw away the peelings and prepared his tear sockets. Gemma snorted on the other end.

“Don’t think they know what they are doing, then.”

“Oh, come off it. It’s a fine enough song,” Harry said, cutting up the onion and trying to keep his tears at bay.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You are the best songwriter this world has ever seen.”

“I never said that,” Harry said and sniffed.

“Are you crying?” she asked, sounding totally confused. Harry chuckled, tears streaming down his face. He was relieved to see the water boiling and left the onions to pour the pasta in.

“You can be quite harsh, you know, little sister.”

“Are you for reals?”

“No,” Harry said with a laugh and could practically hear Gemma roll her eyes. “I’m cooking, was cutting the onions.”

“Oh, so the lady whom you dedicate your songs to won’t even cook the dinner?”

“Gems, we’ve talked about it, alright? Drop it.”

There was silence, Harry counted it for another eye roll.

“Listen,” he said, dropping his voice. “I’m okay with cooking, it’s not a problem.”

“You know it’s not all about cooking. I don’t care who cooks among you, I just don’t really like her. I’m sorry, H, I can’t help it.”

“Why though?” Harry said, frowning at the onion, knife back in hand.

“I don’t know, really,” she said and Harry was about to roll eyes himself. “And don’t make this face,” Gemma said with a smile.

“How did you even know?”

“I know all your dirty secrets, Harry Styles,” she whispered confidentially, and Harry smiled wider, wiping his cheeks on his shoulder.

“Unfortunately for me, you really do.”

There was another silence.

“You here?” he asked.

“Yeah, I was just thinking of how better to put it.”

“Put what?” Harry said and put out chopped tomatoes from the fridge.

“Your girlfriend.”

“Drop it, Gems,” Harry said softly. If it was anyone but Gemma, he wouldn’t be so patient. “Shit, I forgot garlick!” he said, slapping his hand to his forehead. He put on another pot with oil before rummaging through the cupboard.

“I just,” Gemma said, as if Harry hadn’t spoken before. “You know how you get this feeling you can’t explain? Like you see a person and you are like ‘ew, I don’t want to be around them’. Like they are not your people.”

“Yeah, but it’s me living with the person, not you, remember?” Harry said as he finally snatched a head a garlick from a dark corner. “Yes!”

“Found your garlick?”

“Yep.”

“Congrats,” Gemma said, and she didn’t sound herself anymore.

“Gems, just trust me with it, yeah? I’m never shitting on your guys, do I?”

“Maybe it’s because they were alright?”

“Are you ever not stubborn?” Harry asked, shaking his head, as he sent the onion and garlic into the pot with oil.

“Well,” Gemma stretched the vowel. “When you cook your blueberry cheesecake, I can be quite forgiving.”

Harry chuckled, checking on the pasta. He pressed his phone to his ear with his shoulder and put a colander into the sink.

“But I won’t get it this Christmas, will I?” Gemma asked, as Harry poured the pasta into the colander.

“Nope, and don’t blame me for that. I have all the right to spend my Christmas here,” Harry said, biting on his lip. He did want to go home this time though. 

“But it’s a family holiday! You haven’t celebrated it with us ever since you are with her!”

Harry returned the pasta to the oven top.

“She has a name, Gems. And if you don’t drop it, I’m hanging up.”

“Alright, alright, H. Here, what song do you wanna perform on the first show?”

“I’m not really in yet,” Harry said, pouring the tomatoes to the onion and garlic.

“Come on, you know you are. Or suppose you are. I heard visualization helps and all that; so what song?”

“Well, remember  _ Hey Angel _ ? I thought maybe that one.”

“So you don’t wanna stick to  _ Olivia _ ?” she asked, and Harry could hear the smug in her voice.

“Nope,” Harry said, finally pouring the pasta into the pot, and mixing it up with the sauce.

“Why not?”

“I mean, it is a bit cringy now I think about it. And if we do make it through, it will be on telly, and it’s kind of-”

“Pathetic?”

“Piss off.”

“Babe!” Olivia shouted from downstairs. Harry heard the doorbell ring.

“Yeah, everything is ready!” he called to her as she opened the doors for Elouise. “Sorry, Gems, have to go.”

“Alright,  _ babe, _ ” she said with probably another eye roll. “Enjoy your pasta. See you sometime, I hope.”

“Love you, too,” Harry said, pulling out the plates.

“Love you,” she said before hanging up. Harry pocketed his phone and came up to the staircase, bending down.

“Hey, Harry!” said Elouise over Olivia’s shoulder, while the latter was squeezing her in a tight embrace. “Congratulations!” 

“Thanks, El. Come up, the dinner is ready,” he nodded and straightened up, stepping back into the tiny kitchen.

He heard them whisper about something as he was serving up. He took a bottle of wine from the fridge and finished placing the plates, when they finally came up, arms linked. Harry gestured to the table.

“Here you go,” he said and took off his apron, which messed up his short hair. He sometimes missed having it long, when he could put it up into a bun and forget about it.

“So how did it go?” Elouise asked, sitting onto one of the four chairs. Harry sat opposite her. Olivia grabbed his hand immediately, and he smiled.

“They loved it,” she said, looking him into the eye, and for a moment Harry felt like they were completely alone.

“Yeah,” he said, still looking at her.

“And they loved the song, too,” Olivia said, breaking the gaze. Harry felt cold without it.

“Well, they didn’t actually say anything about the song, did they?” he said, watching Elouise help herself to the pasta.

“I felt like they liked the idea.”

“I always said it was brilliant!” said Elouise, as Harry was loading his plate and Olivia was pouring them all wine.

“Thanks, El.”

He decided it was a good evening. They talked about the audition, about El’s Christmas trip, about Olivia and Harry’s plans for their own Christmas. He kept glancing at Olivia and receiving warm smiles back, and caught himself wishing Elouise hadn’t come. She was fun and she was Olivia’s best friend ever since they met at uni, but he was getting tired of her sharing everything with her best friend. But when he came out of the bathroom at the end of the dinner and heard Olivia say,

“Oh, you should stay. Really, it’s too late to go. You won’t mind, Harry, will you?” she turned to him as he climbed the stairs back up to the kitchen. To be quite honest, Harry did mind, but he couldn’t really say no. He didn’t want to spoil the evening for her.

“Sure. I think I’ll be off, actually,” Harry said and gestured to the stairs.

“Goodnight,” El said from the table.

“I’ll come soon, too,” Olivia said and smiled at him warmly.

“Alright,” Harry said and descended the stairs. 

He took a quick shower and emerged into the bedroom with only a towel on his hips, hoping to see Olivia. But the room was empty. Harry sighed and hang the wet towel onto the back of his chair and got under the covers. He turned on the TV and searched for the Oasis documentary he wanted to watch for a long time now. He put it on and curled in on himself, letting himself forget about the girls upstairs — they probably needed some time to catch up anyway — and emerged himself into the film. 

He thought of fame as he watched it. True, the band were one of their kind, very distinct, especially for the time they started in; sort of like the Beatles, Harry thought. Their path to being famous wasn’t really laid out for them. Did it mean you had to go through a lot to achieve that level of success? Well, Harry thought, he probably wouldn’t mind it. He could deal with some shit if that meant people would love his music, would come out to see him perform live, would support him and cheer him on stage. He closed his eyes and imagined a huge crowd of people all shouting cheerfully for him, asking him to sing one more song, to stay for just another few minutes. How nice it would be to be stopped in the streets and asked for an autograph? Or if somebody would ramble on twitter about how they couldn’t believe they met him face-to-face? He sometimes saw such tweets in his feed and it made him wish he knew how it felt like. Did celebrities ever get used to their level of popularity? And does it wear off with time — do people recognise you less a few years after your peak in fame?

Harry remembered how he used to think of actors and singers as some sort of gods; it was silly of him, of course, but he remembered thinking they were just perfect. It’s sort of similar to how you feel about your parents, he supposed. When you are a child, they are perfect to you, because they just know so much more about the world. But then, as you grow older you start to notice their flaws. Your dad isn’t as confident, your mum doesn’t really like cooking, your sibling is just a as much a fool in this world as you are, really. They may have a touch more experience, but they are not always right. Same with your idols, he thought. You first think they are so amazing, and they help charities, and they make great music, or play in great films, but then you learn they smoke weed and start wondering if they were high when they wrote your favourite tune.

But then you realize they don’t have to follow your expectations. Your parents don’t really owe you to be perfect, and your favourite musicians don’t owe it to you either. Shit, they don’t even know you exist! Now, that’s depressing. Harry thought how if he got famous he would really like to know as many fans as he could; would like to take time to talk to them if they stopped him in the street. He didn’t want to end up a dickhead everyone only loved the look of. And if he was nice to them, maybe he could get away with having a joint here and there?

He opened his eyes when the bed beside him sank and he felt the familiar flowery perfume.

“Shh,” Olivia whispered and tucked a curl behind his ear. “Go to sleep, babe, I’ll turn it off,” she said as she smiled at him in the darkness. Half her face was lit from the light of the TV screen.

“Thanks,” he whispered back and smiled dreamily at her.

When she got under covers beside him and Harry scooped her closer, he thought of big crowds of people listening to him perform again, and drifted off to sleep, feeling excited.

* * *

The next morning found Harry behind his desk in his classroom. It was a sunny day, and it was the last week of school. Which meant, an exam.

“Good luck!” he smiled at his students and watched them turn over the pages and start scribbling away. He dropped into his chair and looked at the room at large. He went back to the previous day in his thoughts, remembering the trembling heart and the relief that washed over him when they finally finished and got a positive reaction. He kept checking his phone every few minutes for the email, even though it was still a few days till Friday. But he couldn’t help reaching for his phone the moment he woke up, Olivia already taking a shower in their adjacent bathroom, her own exam in her uni earlier that day.

‘Good morning, babe,’ she said, walking into the room. 

‘Hey,’ he smiled back and stood up, stretching. ‘El still around?’

‘Yep. So you’d better put some pants on,’ she said and threw him a clean pair. 

‘Afraid to get jealous?’

‘Of course. Don’t want to share,’ she said and sent him a kiss. He pretended he caught it with his hand and tucked it into an invisible pocket, before she entered the corridor in her dressing gown. ‘I’ll start on breakfast,’ she said over her shoulder.

Harry in the classroom went back to reality with a dreamy smile on his face. He caught one of the students smirking at him, and smiled wider. The girl chuckled and looked back at her paper, as Harry continued to watch the rest of them. He spotted George, a red head in his last year, whom Harry met in the first class he ever taught. They became friendly almost at once. Harry remembered George calling him out after the first lecture on his ‘weird’ clothes, and calling him a ‘hipster prof’. Harry then just invited him for a coffee in a student cafeteria, and they had spent their lunch hour chatting. Harry thought that George was probably very friendly with all his teachers, a way to stay in good books, but was proven wrong soon enough.

He was walking down the corridor one day, when he saw George, very red in his face looking at his own feet, and a random professor telling him something quietly. Harry frowned and came over then.

“Is everything alright?” he said then, as Mrs. Wood paused and looked at him.

“Yes, Mr. Styles. I was just having a word with Paddington about his work.”

“You alright, Paddington?” Harry asked the boy, squeezing his shoulder. George nodded at his feet.

“Is something wrong?” Harry asked her then.

“I don’t think you have the right to know,” she said cooly, and Harry barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes.

“Well, in any case, I don’t think Paddington can be that bad and deserve to be told off in front of passing students. Don’t you think so, Mrs. Wood?”

She glared at him.

“He is the worst student I ever had,” she hissed, and Harry grabbed George’s shoulder tighter. 

“Well,” he said. “He is one of the best I had, and I don’t think it’s good to tell someone they are the worst if you want them to improve.”

“I won’t have you question my teaching methods!” she hissed again, but Harry didn’t flinch.

“Come on, Paddington, let’s go,” he said as he pulled George aside. George glanced at Mrs. Wood timidly but left with Harry, muttering ‘thank you’. 

Harry came back to reality once again, as he saw the first student stand up. Soon they started finishing and left the room with quiet ‘Have a lovely Christmas, Mr. Styles!’, ‘Good luck!’ and ‘Thank you for the semester!’. He wished them each a merry christmas and a happy new year, and thanked them for wishing him luck. He told them about the competition a few days after they entered their names, back at the end of November. Some of his classes felt like a family, like friends, and he needed someone to share his news with.

‘Oh, this is wonderful!’ said Tina that day.

‘Does it mean you goin’ to leave us though?’ asked George.

‘I don’t reckon, no. I should be able to keep my job, and would very much like to,’ he smiled at him.

‘Well, then, good luck, Mr. Styles. You have our votes.’

‘Thanks, Paddington.’

‘Will you give us an A if we give you a vote, by the way?’

‘You wish.’

‘Tough luck.’

‘Nothing I can do,’ he shrugged. ‘Right, back to Gogen...’

Harry shook his head and blinked back into reality again. There was one student left. George came up to him and handed the paper.

“Think you did well?”

“I hope so.”

“One less to go, eh? How many have you got left?”

“Two more, last one on Friday.”

“Well, good luck, Paddington. And make sure you have a good Christmas.”

“I’ll drink myself senseless the first day of these bloody holidays.”

“Watch your tongue, young man,” Harry said, trying to frown, but gave in for the smile. George smirked. “I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear it,” he said then, gathering all the papers.

“I always knew I could count on you, Mr. Styles. And you’ve always got a vote from me, remember?”

“Are you bribing me, Paddington?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” George raised his hands and started walking backwards towards the door. “Have a nice one, Mr. Styles. And good luck with your competition.”

“Thank you, Paddington. Good luck on the exams.”

Harry left the uni half an hour later, saying goodbye for the next few weeks. He popped into a local bakery on his way home. It was cosy inside, with the light snow falling outside. It had yellow lights along the ceiling, and small wooden tables all over. Harry came up to the counter and a pimply faced plump boy smiled at him.

“What can I get for you, sir?” he said, fixing his light blue cap.

“I wanted to have a pie. What do you reckon I should go for?” 

“Let’s see. We have a few chocolate ones? How does that sound to you?” he said, pointing at one of the shop-windows. Harry looked at a few dark-brown pies and noticed one with a slice of orange on top.

“Is this one with orange zest or something?” he asked, bending to look closer. The boy smiled at him.

“That’s my favourite, sir. You’ll love it,” the boy said and winked. Harry chuckled.

“Alright then,” he said, taking out his wallet. “Orange chocolate it is.”

Harry left the bakery a few minutes later, gripping tighter onto the paper bag with the pie. He smiled at the snow — it was a wonderful day: he had almost the whole of it absolutely free, two and a half weeks of holidays ahead of him, the weather was Christmasy and his mood was rising by the second.

The winter was in full swing now, though there wasn’t a lot of snow. But one can’t have a snowy Christmas every year. He remembered a few particularly white ones, but never one since he moved to London all those years ago. The one he asked Olivia out for the first time, in their last year at uni, wasn’t snowy either. 

He also missed the winter at home, when he and Gemma would make a huge snowman in the backyard and then mum would call them back for tea with his favourite ginger biscuits, the way only mum always managed to cook them just right. He smiled at the thought, and for a moment he wished he went home for that Christmas. There was a proper chimney in the living room, a big table for all of them and a real Christmas tree, which he knew Robin bought just yesterday. But then he remembered he would have Olivia all to himself for once, because Elouise, thank heavens, was leaving for a family trip to somewhere Harry didn’t really care about.

He reached their building, the snow giving way to stone under his feet. He stopped on the corner to catch his breath but froze on the spot when he caught a glimpse of his own porch. There, by the open door and washed in the yellow light where Olivia and Elouise, kissing. Harry watched, transfixed, as his girlfriend’s long fingers got lost in El’s blond hair, how their bodies were pressed close to each other, El’s hands fisted in Olivia’s red sweater. Harry realised his mouth was open and closed it at once. The movement seemed to bring feeling to the rest of his body and he shook his head, his eyes shut tight. He would open them now, and it would all be gone. It was not real.

Only it was. No matter how many times he blinked, Olivia and Elouise were still standing just as closely, their lips still touching, oblivious to Harry twenty feet away, falling apart on the spot. Did they?.. How long?.. Have they?..

He stepped closer, and closer, and closer, until one of them finally heard the steps and they sprang apart. Harry once wanted to be an actor, but he would very much prefer to not ever have to experience this moment neither in acting, nor for reals. He didn’t feel cool at all. 

“Harry,” it was Olivia who spoke first, her eyes welling up with tears. “Baby, I’m so sorry,” she said, covering her mouth with her hand. Right, then. She won’t try to deny it. Harry couldn’t decide whether it was for better or for worse. He just watched them, Olivia now full on crying, Elouise looking at her feet. He noticed with a pang that they were holding hands. He found his voice.

“How-” he choked, not recognising the words coming out of his mouth. “How long have you been?..” he said and drew a circle with his hand, noticing he was still gripping the paperbag with the pie in it. Olivia just shook her head, she looked like she couldn’t speak. Her cheeks were red, and she kept crying. Harry wished she acted differently. He needed a reason to fully hate her now, he really did.

“Two years, give or take,” said Elouise, still looking at her feet. She sounded guilty, but she wasn’t crying. She hadn’t just experienced her relationship of three years crush into bits, after all.

“Right,” Harry said and started walking backwards, not really realising it till he slipped on some snow and barely held his balance. He noticed Olivia stretching her free arm out, as if to catch him, but then he turned the corner and didn’t stop till he was way out of earshot.

He walked on and on, through the white snow, seeing smiling faces of people, on their way home for the Christmas holidays, no doubt. Every single one of them completely oblivious to his inner turmoil. 

He wrote fucking songs to her, he wanted to marry her one day, and he knew she was close to Elouise, but they were all friends since their freshman year, it didn’t mean anything. He felt sick when he thought of them kissing or having sex in his bed, so sick he needed to stop. He bent forward, his hands on his knees, his side pressed to the wall of a building. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It helped clear his mind a bit and he remembered he still had the pie. He made himself walk on till he met the first homeless person and dropped it in front of them.

“Thank you,” the man said. “Merry Christmas.”

Harry only nodded, not even looking back. The man smelled nasty, and Harry was afraid he was going to go sick again if he didn’t move. 

The images of all their moments started springing to his mind, unwanted, and Harry couldn’t help but notice what a bloody fool he was. There was the Arctic Monkeys concert just a few months ago, Harry holding her hand, as the band played ‘No 1 Party Anthem’, his favourite song, and El was right there beside them, smiling at Olivia. Harry thought she was happy for her friend, but she was happy for her lover. The crowd morphed into the one in a pub they went to every Friday, and again, Elouise was right there. Then Olivia’s latest birthday out in the theme park, and Harry had invited El himself, wanting to make it perfect for his girlfriend.

How could he be so foolish not to notice? All their late night chats, on the phone or in the living room, their girls’ nights out every month — did they just fuck at El’s place? — Olivia always texting or calling her. What a fucking idiot would not see that?

Harry entered a random cafe and took the booth furthest away from the bar. It was a nice place, with quiet music and cosy chairs, but he couldn’t appreciate it at the moment. He just needed a seat, or else he’d puke. He ordered tea and fished his phone out from his pocket. Mum answered at once.

“Hi, love.”

“Hey mum. Erm… Can I come home for Christmas?”

Silence, then:

“What happened, love?”

“Can we talk when I come home? If I can come?”

“Of course, of course you can. Take the first ticket there is, I’m already home. I’ll go start on dinner then, yeah?”

“I love you, mum.”

“I love you too, pup. See you in the evening. Take care.”

He hang up and pressed the phone to his forehead. Breath in, breath out. He shoot up from the chair, forgetting his tea, and got out into the cold again. He took a bus to the flat and stood for a few seconds in front of the doors, not sure if he wanted to do this. He probably should have gone straight to the station. Finally, he opened the doors — feeling temporarily relieved when he realised they were locked — and entered their flat, his stomach clenching with discomfort. But one look around the tiny dark hallway calmed him down, before it made him even sicker. All her coats, boots and scarfs were gone. Harry peeped into their bedroom and saw the wardrobe doors ajar, even her hand cream gone from her nightstand. Right. He opened his part of the wardrobe and started filling up his bag with clothes for home. When he was finished and gave the room one last look, he noticed a note on the red covers. He picked it up.

“ _ Harry, _

_ _ _ I’m very sorry you saw us, but I think it was bound to happen one day. I know you won’t forgive me. I feel horrible, too, trust me. I was torn between you two for a long time, and I know what I did can never be justified, but I really hope you find your happiness again, on your own or with someone who will be better than me. You deserve it, you truly do. Please don’t take any of it personally, it is all my mistake. I’m leaving the flat and I won’t come back, I took everything I needed. I’m truly sorry. The key is under the mat. Please forgive me, if you can. Thank you for the amazing three years of my life. _

_ _ _ Olivia.” _

He barely saw the last word through the tears, his hand was shaking and crumpling up the thin paper. But then he thought that she probably wrote it while Elouise was holding her hand, and even if it was all true, she had someone to hold her through her tears, and Harry had no one. He felt sick immediately, and left the flat almost at a run. He threw the note away at the nearest rubbish bin and wiped his face with the back of his hand. It felt cold against his skin, soothing.

* * *

His mom listened to his story with big, teary eyes. When he finished, his eyes on his lap, she whispered,

“Oh, love,” and hugged him, pulling Harry from his corner on the sofa to her chest. 

He hid his face into her shoulder, hugging her back just as tightly. They started rocking back and forth, she kept stroking his back, her hands warm and strong, grounding. He heard the lock turn in the front doors and sat up straighter, wiping at his face. 

“Is it dad?” he said, his voice a bit hoarse from the tears. 

“It should be, yes. Want us to give you some time alone?”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll go greet him,” he said and tried to put on a smile, which felt fragile, trembling on the corners. He got up and walked out of the living room.

“Hi dad,” he said when he entered the hall. Robin looked at him, and his smile morphed into raised brows in a second.

“You alright, son? Anne told me you were coming, but we didn’t know why. Everything alright?” he said, hurrying closer and giving Harry a pat on the back. Harry nodded, willing his face to stay calm. The tears weren’t really coming any more, but he knew his face must be red and swollen from crying.

“Yeah. I just- I broke up with Olivia.”

“Oh.”

“It’s alright, don’t worry.”

“I’m sorry, son,” he said, squeezing his shoulder. “How about a pint tonight, eh?” he smiled small and Harry thought he looked like Father Christmas for a moment. The thought caused him a real smile.

“Right. You got me.”

“There we go,” Robin chuckled and left his hand on Harry’s shoulder, pulling him into the kitchen.

“When is Gems coming by the way?”

“She didn’t tell you?” Robin frowned, pausing in front of the opened fridge, his portly figure dark against the light.

“She did, but I forgot.”

“Must be home tomorrow afternoon,” Robin handed him a bear and they went into the living room, mum sorting out something upstairs. Probably Harry’s bed.

“And how are we celebrating Christmas?” Harry asked, as they sank into the sofa and Robin turned the telly on.

“Well, the usual — dinner and presents,” Robin chuckled again, raising his pint.

“Oh actually, tomorrow we planned the dinner with the Tomlinsons,” said mum, entering the room. She opened a drawer and started rummaging in it for something. “Robin, have you seen another pillow? I can’t find one in Harry’s room?” she said, not raising her head.

“No, sorry, love.”

“Wait, the Tomlinsons? I thought they moved to London?”

Harry felt hot all over again, remembering the embarrassment of more than ten years ago now.

“Well, yes, but Johannah’s mother still lives in their house, they didn’t sell it, remember? Aha, here it is,” she pulled out a pillow and closed the drawer with her foot.

“Oh,” Harry said, gripping his bottle tighter. “And Louis is coming too?”

“Yep. He is down every year for Christmas.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

“It will be alright, son, don’t worry. There are enough Tomlinsons to pull attention to,” Robin nudged him in the shoulder. Mum smiled at them, still holding the pillow with both arms.

“Yeah, there are actually seven of them now.”

“Seven?” Harry asked, genuinely surprised. “I thought Louis had four sisters?”

“They had another set of twins a few years ago. A boy and a girl,” mum smiled and ruffled Harry’s hair as she passed. “Your bed will be ready upstairs.”

“Thanks, mum.”

“No problem.”


	2. 2

Harry looked at himself in the mirror in the hall as Gemma chuckled behind him:

“Are you worried to disappoint the Tomlinsons?”

“Piss off,” he said and joined her on the sofa, sitting down on the armrest. 

“What’s up with you and your professor clothes then?”

“What do you mean?”

“I haven’t seen you in the jeans that tight since you graduated. Where are the grandpa jackets and wide trousers, huh?”

“Well, I actually haven’t packed any yesterday. I have, like, five sweaters now, and only jeans from yesterday, but they are in the wash now,” he ran his hand through his hair, feeling queasy. It wasn’t yet the time to talk casually about yesterday.

“Oh,” Gemma clapped him on the back. “So you found those in your room?”

“Yep. They are a bit too tight though. I don’t think they’ll fly at my work.”

“I think your crush will like them well enough.”

“Piss off,” Harry said and stood up immediately, for the front doors have opened.

“Nervous?” Gemma whispered as they walked into the hall.

“Search me.”

She snorted and they emerged into the hall full of people now. Harry couldn’t help but pull the hem of his sweater down, looking at the guests, as his mum said:

“Johannah, dear!” 

The two women kissed, and Harry noticed that Johannah hadn’t changed since he last saw her all those years ago. She still was a beautiful woman.

“Merry Christmas!” she said, as Robin helped her out of her coat, while her own husband was holding the little twins. The girl caught Harry’s eyes and opened her mouth. He mirrored her expression and heard Gemma snort beside him. 

“Harry, hello, I haven’t seen you in a while!” Johannah noticed him, as she was helping one of the older twins undress.

“Harry?” somebody asked, and he felt his stomach drop. He knew that voice. 

“Good evening, Johannah, nice to see you again,” he smiled and nodded at her. “Hi, Louis,” he said, still looking at her. He could not look into those eyes just yet. He needed to recover from his heartbreak from less than thirty hours ago, thank you very much. Though Olivia’s picture was strangely blurred now. “Congratulations on the little ones, by the way.” 

“Oh, thank you! Come on, give me a hug!” she came closer and squeezed him tight. 

“Good to see you again,” he repeated, just because he felt he needed to say something. The rest of the guests were filing out into the living room now.

“You too, dear, you too,” she patted him on the back and let him go. He caught her eyes for a moment and smiled, thinking if Louis had told her about Harry. Well, that would have been embarrassing. He couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t blush, so he looked away and they walked into the living room, with the chatting of the others for their company.

Harry looked up just enough to spot where Louis was sat, so as not to look there ever again. It wasn’t possible though: Johannah had taken the place by his mum and her husband, and the one left was between Louis and Gemma. Harry grit his teeth and sat down.

“Hey,” Louis said, as he joined, and Harry almost looked at him, but caught himself in time. Instead, he reached out for the salat to his right.

“Hi.”

“So, how have you been? I’ve seen Gemma a couple of times, but you haven’t been down for Christmas lately, have you?” Louis said to him, as he loaded his plate with roasted chicken.

“No, actually. I spent it with a girlfriend,” Harry said, still staring at his plate. Talking about Olivia with Louis, of all people, was a new experience. Certainly not something he expected when he took a train home yesterday.

“Oh. Change of plans this year?” his tone was light, if only curious. Harry didn’t know if it made him feel better or worse.

“Yeah. We broke up,” he said and took a sip of his wine. He saw Louis pause in his chewing.

“Shit, I’m sorry, mate. You alright now?”

Harry looked at him and felt a long forgotten tingle in his chest. Louis Tomlinson was even prettier than he remembered him. Louis at sixteen was soft, flowery, somewhat feminine; but at the same time he was loud, obnoxious and very, very mischievous. Louis of — must be twenty seven now? — didn’t look soft at all. His cheekbones and his jawline were sculptured, his hair was shorter and he certainly hadn’t shaved for a while. His nose was still the same — button-like and lovely; so were his eyes — they were just as light blue as that last time they looked at Harry with apology almost eleven years ago. He looked kind, but mischievous. Harry swallowed his wine, realising he’d been staring at Louis for a good few seconds now, and blinked, tearing his gaze away. He saw Louis drop his gaze to the plate as well.

“Yeah,” Harry said, remembering the question. Was he alright? “I don’t know actually,” he ended up adding, just because lying to your crush from a decade ago didn’t feel okay to him.

“Well, shit happens,” Louis said, starting on his meat again.

“I s’pose.”

They fell into silence, and Harry took the chance to look around the table. Gemma was talking to Lottie, Louis’ oldest sister. Harry remembered his sister mentioning her a few times — they seemed to hang out a lot when they were both home. Johannah and his mum were chatting at the end of the table, near them Robin and Dan were talking, too. Fizzy, Phoebe and Daisy were all feeding the little twins.

“What are their names, by the way?” Harry asked Louis quietly, still looking at them.

“Ernie and Doris.”

“They look adorable.”

“You speak like a man who hadn’t spend a day with them.”

Harry frowned and looked at his plate instead of looking at him.

“What do you mean? They look calm enough for me.”

“I think they must be afraid of the new people or something. Mom always says Ernie is going to grow into another me one day.”

“Oh,” Harry said and smiled reluctantly. He glanced at the twins again. “Poor Johannah, then.”

“Shut it, Curls,” Louis said, laughter in his voice. Harry bit his lip at the nickname. Nobody had called him ‘Curls’ for a while now. Ten and a half years, to be exact.

“So, what about you, then? You still in London?” Harry asked and took a forkful of salat.

“Yep. Though I have my own flat now.”

“Cool.”

“You are in London too, mom said?” 

Harry could see Louis glance at him from the corner of his eye.

“Yeah. I teach Art History.”

“Sounds posh.”

“You think so?” Harry said, putting on his most northern accent. “ _ Mate? _ ” he added for good measure and heard Louis snort. He chuckled himself, feeling light now. He blamed it on the wine.

“You’ve changed,” Louis said after a minute or so, and Harry looked at him again, unable to stop himself. Louis was smiling at him. Harry looked away.

“In what way?” he asked, putting mum’s mash onto his plate.

“You’ve matured.”

“Well, people don’t stay fourteen forever, do they?”

“Well, yeah. I just wasn’t expecting that,” said Louis and gestured with his hand at Harry.

“What, ‘that’?”

“You were shorter than me, for starters.”

Harry actually snorted at that.

“Sorry?” he said.

“I hate you people.”

“Whom? Those who are higher than five feet?”

“Fuck off, Harold.”

Harry snorted again, hiding his grin in his hand.

“Sorry,” he said again and nudged Louis’ shoulder for good measure. “I just grew up real fast right before uni. And then I went to the gym.”

“Well, suits you well. Though I liked it better with curls. Now I can’t actually call you Curls, can I?”

“Well, I didn’t know I’d meet you. Wouldn’t have cut it, then.”

“Honored.”

“I actually had them past my shoulders when I graduated.”

“You kidding me?” said Louis, actually pausing with his fork halfway to his mouth.

“You’ve got a hair kink or something?”

“Piss off,” Louis finally bit into his chicken and Harry bit his lip. He was flirting with Louis Tomlinson. His fourteen year old self would have pissed himself with the news. 

“You’ve changed too, you know,” he said, mumbled even. 

“I was always gorgeous, Harold, just admit it.”

“I’m not the one to argue with that, am I?”

Smooth. Harry was so bloody smooth. He was jokingly referencing his embarrassing teen self who drooled over the boy next to him. He was cool like that now, he was.

“Well, you tell me.”

“Like old wine, eh?” said Harry and raised his glass, smiling and looking at him again. Third time in the last hour — he didn’t think he’d manage one at the beginning.

“Gets better with age.”

“Exactly.”

They drank their wine simultaneously and when Harry glanced around the table again, they were all the same. Chatting and eating, the little twins still quiet. He went back to his food too, as Louis ate silently beside him.

“Shit,” Harry hissed as the mash dropped from his fork onto his jeans. He bit his tongue at once, hoping his mum hadn’t heard him. He tried to remove it with his fork, as a small hand entered his field of vision. Louis was wiping it off with a napkin.  _ Louis Tomlinson was touching Harry’s thigh _ . Somebody, send help, please. Harry realised he was holding his breath and tried to exhale as quietly as possible.

“Here you go,” Louis said, as light as ever, throwing the crumpled napkin onto his own plate now full of chicken bones.

“Erm, thanks,” Harry said, managing a half glance at his shoulder. “Shit, those are my only clean pair.”

“Well, you should have packed better then,” said Louis, shrugging in Harry’s peripheral vision.

“You’ve got tattoos, by the way?” Harry said instead, trying to think of anything but the feel of Louis’ fingers still on his thigh. Because he was almost twenty-five, thank you very much. No need to be pathetic.

“So do you,” Louis nodded at Harry’s hand with a delicate cross. “Though yours probably look cooler than mine, anyway.”

“Why?”

“I’ve got lots of stupid ones. I did some of them myself, actually,” he said quieter, throwing a cautious glance at Johannah.

“Yourself?” Harry looked at him for the fourth time that evening — smooth.

“Just don’t tell me mom, alright?”

“But really? You’ve got the equipment?”

“I gave it to one of my mates as a birthday present, and a couple of drunk nights gave me those,” he gestured to his forearm, full of small drawings. Harry briefly thought that even Louis’ tattoos were small and delicate, just like the man himself, but he tucked away that thought for later; better for never. Louis is the last person Harry should be thinking about at the moment, right?

“You are adventurous, aren’t you?”

“I certainly like it better than ‘drunk out of me mind’, yeah. Thanks, Harold,” said Louis and clapped him on the shoulder. Why did his touches have to be so electric? Get it together, Styles.

“You are welcome. So are all of them a result of you being adventurous, then?”

Louis snorted.

“Nah. I’ve got a penguin on my bum, and I’ll have you know, I was absolutely sober that night.”

Harry choked on his food and tried to pass it off as a cough. That earned him a couple more claps on the back from Louis.

“You alright, pup?” he asked, voice innocent.

“Yeah. Just didn’t think you trust me to know about your bum tattoos,” Harry said, straightening up and taking a sip of his wine to calm his throat. Louis’ phantom touch still lingered on his back, even though his hands were now retrieved.

“Well, you seemed to like it at footy sessions well enough.”

Harry blushed now, he really did. He wouldn’t admit to it as a twenty four year old, though.

“Piss off, Tomlinson,” he said, staring at his food as if it was its fault.

“You weren’t the only one, so don’t feel embarrassed. It’s alright,” said Louis and pressed his fist to Harry’s thigh, as if it was a normal soothing gesture. It probably was, just not between them. Harry didn’t like the things it did to him.

“Right,” he said. 

You can do this, Styles. He knocked his knees with Gemma under the table, silently asking her to come to his rescue. But Gemma, bless her, was no fucking help. So Harry bit his tongue again and tucked into his food, determined to finish his mash, now lukewarm. He chanced a glance at Louis and saw that he was pulling faces at the two sets of twins opposite them. He looked at them and smiled — the little ones were laughing, while Phoebe and Daisy held them on their knees, pointing at Louis. Fizzy was watching them all with a soft smile. Harry noticed that she now looked a lot like her mother. Although, they all looked like her. He felt Louis looking at him and turned his face to meet the gaze for the fifth time, ignoring the fact that he was keeping track.

“Wanna hold them?”

“The kids?” Harry asked, surprised. Louis nodded, raising his eyebrows and smiling. “Sure,” Harry said and Louis stood up, drawing all the attention to himself. Harry watched him go around the table and take Doris from Phoebe, and he knew Johannah and his mum were watching Louis give Doris to Harry.

“Hey, princess,” Harry smiled at her, setting the girl down into his lap. “I’m Harry.”

Louis dropped beside him with Ernie in his arms and Harry could still feel everybody’s eyes on him. He wished they weren’t looking.

“I’m Do’is,” she said and reached up with her hands. Harry bent down and let her run her small fingers through his hair. That earned him a couple laughs from the table and the conversations seemed to be springing back up. Thank heavens. 

“Nice to meet you, Doris,” Harry said when she released him, eyes only a bit teary from where she pulled at a knot in his hair. 

“You too, Arry,” she said and clapped her hands.

“Is it your brother?” Harry said, nodding at Ernie, who was watching him from Louis’ lap with his mouth open. Harry could feel Louis watching them as well.

“Yes.”

“And what’s his name then?”

“E-enie!”

“It’s Ernie!” said the boy, frowning, and Harry gave him his free hand, while the other was keeping Doris in place.

“Hey Ernie,” he smiled, as the boy gave him a high-five. His hands were so very small compared to Harry’s. 

“Hi.”

“I’m Harry, by the way.”

“You are Gemma’s brother?”

“You know Gemma, then?” Harry looked over his shoulder at his sister. She and Lottie were watching them.

“You have to come home more, little brother,” she said and rested her chin on his shoulder when he turned back to the twins.

“Auntie Gemma!” squaled Doris and pressed up to her feet clumsily to reach her face.

“‘Auntie?’ I didn’t know you were that old, Gems,” Harry smiled at her, as she scrunched her face to make Doris laugh. Louis snorted.

“Don’t be jealous,” she said, and Lottie chuckled behind her back.

“Hey, Harry,” she smiled at him. “Good to see you again.”

“You too. You look great,” he said.

“Thank you,” Lottie smiled.

“Don’t make my sister blush, Curls, will you?” Louis asked. Harry turned to look at him and found him already looking back, Ernie playing with his hands.

“Never dreamt of it.”

“Ever the gentleman,” Louis said quietly and smiled, his eyes shining with wine and that pure kindness they seemed to possess. Harry forgot about the people around them for a moment, revelling in the attention he was given. But then he remembered he was supposed to be recovering from a heart-break, and looked down at Doris. He probably would think about it tonight, before he went to bed.

Only that he didn’t. After the Tomlinsons left — Harry and Louis just nodding at each other, Doris waving at Harry from her place in Louis’ arms — Harry went to his bed and didn’t really think of Olivia. His brain was occupied with the kind blue eyes instead of caramel ones, and small tattooed hands instead of long slender fingers. At a certain level, he thought he was grateful he was distracted, really.

* * *

When Harry came home at the beginning of January, well fed and having slept in every single morning, he felt loads better. In fact, walking through the London flat he used to share with Olivia didn’t seem as scary now. He placed his bag onto the bed and started undressing, eager to have a shower. He was already naked when his phone rang. He silently prayed it wasn’t his mum, or he would have to pull clothes back on — one doesn’t talk to their mother naked. But it was an unknown number.

“Hello?” he said.

“Harry, hi! I’m Jenna from the audition, remember?”

Shit. Harry dropped onto the bed and stared at the bookshelves.

“Erm, yes?”

“Well, I’ve sent you emails, but didn’t really get the answer, so I decided to check in.”

“Sorry. I don’t think it matters. We broke up, so-”

“I know.”

“You do?”

“I talked to Olivia before New Years, she told me you two split up. Harry, I know I’m no one to you, and I’m sorry that happened.”

“Did you call me to say that?”

“Oh, no, sorry again. You two got a yes, but Olivia said she didn’t want to participate anymore. But you still have the place, so if you would like to still have a chance at the telly auditions? They will be live this Friday.”

“Oh,” Harry said, blinking fast. Hearing the name brought back some of the pain he thought he managed to forget about. His throat started clenching, so he closed his eyes and pinched his thigh.

“Harry?”

“Yeah, I’m here, sorry. Just need a second to take it all in.”

“Right. If you need to, you can call me back sometime today? Or email me, I’d be happy to give you time.”

“No, wait, I agree. I’ll be there, count me in.”

“You will?” Jenna sounded surprised.

“Yeah. It was me who wanted it in the first place, so.”

“This is wonderful, Harry! Now you need to come up with a song, okay? Do you have something you could sing all on your own?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do. Does it have to be an original?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, I’ll see what I have.”

“Excellent! If you need my advice, again, just email it to me. I’m here to help you, and if you get in, I’ll be the one leading you.”

“Like my manager?” Harry frowned at the teddy bear on the shelf.

“Something like that,” Jenna laughed. “Only that I have eighteen of you.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“That’s alright, love,” she said and Harry felt a wave of warmth wash over him. “There’ll be fewer once the telly auditions are over, I’ll manage. You have questions about the songs?”

“Do you have any recommendations?” Harry asked, because she sounded like she did.

“Well, yeah. But it’s gonna sound bad. And you are still free not to follow them, alright? I just want to help you see all the potential.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there will be a little info before you actually come on stage, right?”

“Right,” he said slowly, not liking where the story seemed to be going.

“And you know how public loves melodrama?”

“Are you saying what I think you are saying?”

“Harry, listen. The rules say you are free to pick up every single song, there are no judges leading you along and helping you specifically on vocal part. I’m a manager, I can just advise you. But if we tell them about how you and Olivia auditioned together, but then broke up, the public will eat it up.”

“And you want me to sing a break up song?” Harry said, feeling his stomach clench. 

“Well, that’s what I think will be best. With this one up your sleeve you’ll be loved by everyone.”

“Won’t they just pity me? And won’t it make a monster out of her?”

“I don’t know the details of your break up, Harry, but really, no one really needs to. We could just say you two split up, and then you’ll sing a song about still missing her, and they will eat it up.”

“It- it-”

“Sounds horrible, I know. But that’s the industry,” she said and Harry could picture her shrugging, looking disappointed. Harry bit his lip.

“I have a song, I think it’ll be the one. It’s called  _ Just a Little Bit of Your Heart _ ,” Harry said, thinking back to all those years ago when he wrote it; wrote it long before he met Olivia; wrote it when he dreamt about blue eyes. He focused on that now, just not to think of how low he was willing to fall for fame. “I can send you a recording, if you’d like?”

“So you agree with the plan?” she said, sounding surprised again. Harry cringed.

“I do.”

“Wonderful! Thank you, Harry. I’ll respond to you in an email then, when I have a listen.”

“Yeah. Thank you for caring, actually.”

“I know I’m a dick, Harry, but there isn’t much I can do against the system.”

“No, actually, you seem fine.”

“Thanks, Harry,” she chuckled again and Harry smiled. “Well, if you don’t have any more questions, then I’ll be waiting for the song.”

“Sure. Have a nice week.”

“You too, see you, Harry.”

After she hung up, Harry send her the demo and finally left for the shower. As the hot water was hitting his back, he thought of the upcoming concert. It would be his first ever major thing. Maybe Louis would see him on the screen? He felt uneasy at the thought that Olivia would probably be watching, too. Would she regret refusing her place for Harry? Would she miss him and maybe come back? Would he want her to come back? Harry tried to think up a scenario where she ran to him after the concert, arms outstretched for a hug, but he couldn’t really bring himself to enjoy it. Olivia in his head didn’t have distinct features anymore. Maybe it was the almost two weeks that have passed, or his conversation with Gemma on the Christmas Eve, when they spent the morning after the big dinner watching cartoons in their pajamas, eating pancakes and talking about Harry’s break up. Gemma kept pushing him for every possible detail, made him relive the few minutes he swore to never bring up again — and it helped. The pain that coloured the first few attempts went away, and now he felt sad, but the wound started to scar. He was surprised it took such a short time, was even childishly disappointed that what he thought was the love of his life turned out to be so fast to go. His confession to Louis now seemed to spark more emotion in him than Olivia’s betrayal.

It happened almost eleven years ago, just the day before the Tomlinsons were due to leave for London for good. It was the last Friday in May, and Harry was watching Louis playing football during his PE class. He looked so concentrated, his lovely face frowning at the ball he was leading. Harry watched the way light caught on his hair where it bent under the headband away from his face, soft and silky. Harry remembered wishing he could run his fingers through it just to know how it feels. He gripped his pen tighter and glanced at the blackboard — Mrs. Frost was still explaining a formula — and brought his attention back to the boy on the football pitch. The class was ending soon, and after someone scored the last goal, the boys, all sweaty and grinning, were trotting down to the changing rooms — which meant past Harry’s window. He didn’t really notice the others, but he felt a rush of adrenaline when Louis went right behind his window — he could have touched him if not for the glass — and as if feeling Harry’s intent stare he looked over. Harry straightened up, eyes wide, but Louis smiled and winked at him. Harry felt hot all over and looked at the blackboard, though Louis was already out of sight.

After Harry had had lunch that day, he went to drop his tray to that disgusting place where all the leftover food was, but stopped dead in his trucks when he saw who was in front of him.

“Alright, pup?” Louis asked and pushed his tray into the holder. He came closer — Harry stopped breathing, his eyes so wide they probably took over all his face by now — smiling, and ruffled his hair. Harry gripped his tray tighter and swallowed, making himself breathe.

“Nice goal today,” he said then, glad to hide his face as he was pushing the tray into the holder.

“You were watching?” Louis asked, as they started walking out into the hall. Louis Tomlinson — aka the popular boy — was walking with Harry. Help. Harry needed air.

“Yep,” he said, looking at the ground and not really seeing a way out. They were walking through the school grounds soon enough.

“Should I tell Ann what her son does instead of studying, eh? Do one good thing before I leave?” Louis said, leaning against a tree. He shut his eyes, looking at peace, and let the sun wash over his face. Harry thought he looked like a small kitten.

Leaving, right. Today was the last day Harry would see him.

“Lou?” he asked in a small voice, watching the lovely face. Louis kept his eyes closed.

“Yes, pup?”

“I like you,” Harry said and his heart clenched for a few seconds; he could literally feel it stop working for the few beats it took Louis to open his eyes and look down at him, smile still on, eyes still kind.

“I like you too, Curly,” he said and stretched out his hand, ruffling his hair. He probably noticed how red Harry’s cheeks were, because his eyebrows shoot up, as his hand fell to his side. “Oh,” he said softly, and Harry saw pity in his eyes. That was certainly not something he wanted Louis to look at him with. Harry bit his tongue and took a breath.

“Never mind,” he said, starting to walk backwards; shame was spreading over him as if somebody had just cracked an egg open above his head.

“Harry, I’m sorry!” he heard Louis call after him when he took off at a run with his back on the boy. 

He didn’t leave his room that day, nor the next one; especially when the Tomlinsons popped in to say goodbye and mum called him down. He pretended he was asleep.

Harry emerged back into reality, the water running down his body now only luke warm. When he got out of the shower, smiling sadly at his embarrassing younger self, he saw an email pop up on his phone screen. It was from Jenna.

“This is exactly what we need! Can’t wait to see your audition on Friday! Good luck!”


	3. 3

Here we, here we, here we fucking go.  
Harry gripped his guitar, reminded of the day in that crowded corridor, when he sang Olivia to the judges. Now he thought it was a bit pathetic, considering he named a song after a girl who left him the next fucking day. He leant his bum against the concrete wall of the waiting room, crowded with the contestants, letting his guitar weigh him forward. He closed his eyes, trying to breathe in some air that wasn’t all sweat and perfume. He was standing by the opened doors, and he could hear someone singing already. He knew his turn was soon, must be three contestants left before him, not more.  
“Harold!” he heard and straightened up before he even registered the voice. No fucking way. He looked around and saw him.  
“Louis?” he asked, watching the man walk towards him with his arms stretched wide. Harry didn’t have the brain capacity to react in that moment, not really — his brain went absolutely blank — so Louis ended up clapping him on the back, somewhat awkwardly.   
“You are trying out as well?”  
Harry watched him lean against the wall right next to him and seep on the water from a small plastic bottle from one of the tables.  
“You are too, I gather?” he said back and Louis nodded, still drinking. “Nice,” Harry said, looking away. He leant his hands on his knees again, feeling nauseated. He wished he wore a t-shirt instead of this huge black sweater.  
“Water?” Louis asked, nudging a new bottle towards him, and Harry took it with a nod. Louis watched him as he drank. “I see what Gemma meant by grandpa clothes, then,” he said, smiling, and Harry lowered the bottle, frowning at him.  
“Excuse me?”  
“Your trousers are a bit too wide, don’t you think?”  
“You preferred the tight jeans?” Harry said, looking at him over his shoulder with a lopsided smile. He bet he would have looked sexier in jeans and a t-shirt; and cooler (cooler, ha).  
“Maybe I did,” Louis said and shrugged, nonplussed, returning Harry’s smile.  
“Tommo!” they heard from the other side of the room and several heads turned towards the voice. Louis rolled his eyes.  
“Nialler!” he yelled back.  
“Get your chatty arse here, we need to practice!” the man shouted and Harry chuckled.  
“Magic word!” Louis called back, winking at Harry.  
“Please, you wanker!”  
Louis and Harry chuckled.  
“Alright, Curls. Good luck, then. Can’t wait to see you on stage. Make Ann proud, will you?” Louis said and clapped him on the back before leaving.  
“Yeah, good luck to you, too.”

The audience not only ate it up — they swallowed and asked for more. Right off from the moment they told Harry’s story of how he first auditioned with his girlfriend, and how she then left with a friend, down to his last cords, they ‘coo-ed’ and ‘aw-ed’ at him, some girls looking teary. Harry couldn’t help the smile — he knew this love was slightly twisted, maybe for not exactly the truth — but he felt appreciated. He bowed to them all, clasping his hands together, sent a few kisses this way and that, and finally got off the stage, feeling relieved. He barely made it to the corridor to now await the decision, when he heard:   
“And now please welcome the band ‘Supernova’!”   
And before Harry made it into the room, Louis ran past him, smiling, followed by a guy swearing under his breath — Harry took him to be Nialler — and carrying a guitar, another bloke with a beard and lots of tattoos and another guitar, and finally a man with jet black hair, who looked very out of place with the band — Harry wondered for a second if he was someone from the show. But when he entered the room and looked at the screen he saw all four of them on stage — their backstory probably already told — the black-haired one in front and gripping the microphone, while Louis, Nialler and the third guy, all holding guitars, — Louis played guitar? — stood a bit back. A close up of them showed they had mics attached to their ears.  
“So what have you got for us, lads?”  
“The song is called Where Do Broken Hearts Go,” said the one with the proper microphone.  
“And you are?..”  
“Zayn,” the bloke said, smiling and nodding. His voice was so soft for three guitars, Harry thought. Would it actually work?  
“I’m Louis,” said Louis from behind, raising his hand and smiling.  
“That we know,” the man said, chuckling, and Harry frowned.  
“I’m Niall.”  
“And I’m Liam.”  
“Ready to start?”  
“Any time,” Louis smiled and the man walked off the stage, giving them a chance to finally begin.  
And when they did, Harry realised how wrong he was. Zayn was pulling off every line, the rest joining him in the chorus. He found himself stomping his foot to the beat, and saw some of the other contestants do the same. As mismatched as they looked — Zayn with his thick hair in artful diarray, his pale lime shirt falling off his shoulders in a way that made him look more like an artist than a singer — he pulled it off; he also did this thing with a chorus line he sang by himself, a note change that solidified him as a master in Harry’s mind. Louis was playing his guitar solos to the right of the stage, not really jumping much to the beat, but whenever his hands were free, he kept cheering the crowd up and shouting the lyrics to them, covering his mic with his hand.   
Niall was the rockstar of it all. He kept jumping all over the stage, shouted his lines of the chorus to the delight of the audience, and pulled faces at the camera when it came close. Harry could bet anything that he was the closest one to Louis from the band. The third bloke, Liam, was cheering the crowd like Louis, but to the left of the stage, and sometimes joined Niall for a back-to-back guitar solo. By the end of the show the two did that thing where Liam fell to his knees in front of Niall, while the other was playing a solo. Harry laughed at that, and saw Zayn almost lose his line through his own chuckle. But it all paid off — they were sent off stage with tremendous applause. They were probably the best yet today, Harry thought. And definitely a change from the energy he himself left on stage.  
“We fucking did it!” yelled Niall, entering the room with his arms up in the air. Liam caught him in a headlock and dragged him into the corner, both laughing, probably high off of adrenaline.   
Harry stood at the far wall, hidden by the other participants, and watched Louis enter with his arm around Zayn’s shoulders. The latter clapped him on the chest and said something into his ear to which Louis nodded. Zayn left — Harry noticed a pack of cigarettes in his hand — and Louis watched him go, before he looked around, spotting Liam and Niall in the corner. Harry watched them all hug, Niall jumping up with his hands on their shoulders. He even heard Louis’,  
“Oi! Nialler!” through the thick chatter in the room. But then Louis spotted Harry and gestured for him to come over. Harry did so, nervously.  
“Nice performance,” he said when he reached them. “I’m Harry,” he gave his hand to Niall and Liam who both shook it.  
“Thanks, mate,” Niall said. “You know Tommo?”  
“Yeah, we lived nearby back at home. Our mums are best pals,” Harry said with a glance to Louis, who was watching him with a grin.  
“Nice song, by the way,” said Liam.  
“Thanks. I liked yours better though.”  
That made them laugh.  
“Why did you sing a sad one then? Sure you have more up-beat ones?” Louis asked.  
“Well, I do, but they said this one would go better with my story, you know. The break up and all,” he finished, looking at the ground. He felt a hand on his shoulder, it was Louis’, and he was stirred away from the other boys.  
“Sorry about that,” Louis said, now serious.  
“It’s alright. I just feel a bit shitty for doing it, you know,” he said as they emerged into the cool corridor, somebody’s song reaching them from the stage. Louis dropped his hand from his shoulder with one last squeeze and stood facing him. Harry looked at him, thinking back to all those years ago when he actually wrote the song.  
“Did you write it over the break then?”  
“Oh, no. It’s an old one. Before I met her, even.”  
“Oh. So it’s not about her?”  
“Nope. But don’t tell anybody,” Harry said and looked at his feet again. For a moment he felt like they were in the school yard again, on that fine May day, and he was fourteen and embarrassed. Though he should probably be grateful: after all, it prompted him to write a beautiful song a few years later.  
“Well, at least we know one thing, Harold. You write amazing break up songs,” Louis clapped him on the shoulder again and they smiled at each other.  
“Thanks. Yours was real nice, too. Did you all write on it?”  
“Well, I’m more on the lyrics, and Liam and Niall usually write the music.”  
“Dream team, eh?”  
“Exactly.”  
Zayn appeared in the corridor, nodding at Harry as he passed them, but not stopping to talk.  
“Well, I guess I’ll be off, then,” Louis said when Zayn disappeared into the room. “Was nice to see you, pup. Hope we both get in.”  
“Yeah. See you, Lou.”  
Louis smiled at the last word and followed Zayn inside, while Harry stayed in the cool corridor for a few more songs. He didn’t talk to Louis anymore, just sat in his corner, texted his family that everything was alright, and then watched the band hug when they learnt they were through. Louis sent him a smile when Harry’s name was called, too, and Harry smiled back before leaving.  
* * *  
Harry was about to leave for home on Monday afternoon, when he heard:  
“Mr. Styles, wait!”  
He turned and saw George hurrying towards him. Harry waited for him on the porch of the university building and shook his hand when they were close enough.  
“Alright, Paddington?” he smiled at his former student.  
“Yeah. Congratulations on getting in!” George said, as they started walking towards the parking area.  
“Thanks. You liked the song then?”  
“Yep. I didn’t know you wrote songs, by the way.”  
“Well, I started before I went to college and wrote here and there,” he said, shrugging. They stopped in the middle of the parking lot.  
“By the way, I can give you a lift?” George said, nodding at his car.  
“Oh, no, thanks. I’ll take a bus, no worries.”  
“If you say so,” he said and gestured to his car again. “Well then. I hope you win the thing. You are the coolest prof I had so far.”  
Harry chuckled.  
“You don’t need to say it, you know? I can’t grade you anymore.”  
“You know I don’t say it for the grades.”  
“Well, thanks, young man. It was a pleasure to have you in class.”  
“So posh,” George said and rolled his eyes. Harry laughed.  
“Good luck in the new semester. Stop by my office whenever, you know where I am,” Harry said and stretched his hand for a shake.  
“Thanks, Mr. Styles. You, too. Break a leg.”  
They shook hands and Harry left, waving at George over his shoulder. He guessed he was ripping the first fruit of his fame. He couldn’t help the smile on his face on his way home. When he got home the Friday of the show, his mum talked his head off with how proud she was and how nice it was that he and Louis took part in the same thing. He was surprised she didn’t know about it — what with the amount of time she spent on the phone with Johannah — surely they should have figured that out. But maybe Louis wanted it to be a surprise or Harry’s mum actually kept her word and didn’t tell anyone about the thing. Olivia, to Harry’s relief, didn’t make any appearance, and he realised it only on his way to work that morning. Well, then. He was probably starting on a new life now.  
He got off the bus to walk the last few blocks to his flat, which finally started to feel like home again last night — that is, after he rearranged all the furniture inside to make it feel new — when a girl stopped in front of him.  
“Hello?” Harry said, frowning, and gripped the strap of his backpack tighter. “Can I help you?”  
“You are Harry, right?” she asked, looking excited. She kept fidgeting with her phone in her hands.  
“That’s right.”  
“I just wanted to say I really liked your performance last Friday. You were amazing,” sha said, getting redder in the face by the second, and Harry felt blood rush to his face, too.  
“Thank you. It’s really nice to hear.”  
“Well, I guess that’s it. It’s all I wanted to say,” she said, looking away but still standing there.  
“Can I have a hug then?” Harry said, raising his eyebrows.  
“Oh,” she said and looked at him again, eyes opened wide. “Yeah, yeah of course.”  
Harry spread his arms a bit awkwardly — how does one pull off a hug with a stranger who likes you? — and she came willingly. He left some distance between them — not wanting to be rude — and realised he didn’t even know her name. He let go of her and tried to catch her eye again.  
“What’s your name, by the way?”  
“It’s Maddie.”  
“Nice to meet you, Maddie, I’m H-”  
He stopped and the girl laughed nervously, but some tension seemed to have left her. Harry coughed, chuckling.  
“Yeah, well. I hope I didn’t disappoint you. Thank you for coming up and your kind words.”  
“I hope you’ll make it all the way through. Good luck with the next show,” she said and stepped aside a bit, and Harry felt less tense.  
“Thanks a lot. Take care,” he said, waving, and started walking away with his cheeks cherry red.  
“Bye, Harry.”  
He took a few deep breaths when he finally turned his back on her. Two compliments in one day — wow, Styles. You are famous.  
He made it home just in time for the show to begin. They were airing the interviews today — Harry gave his on Saturday, and was determined to see it. So he fixed himself a cup of tea and plopped down on his small sofa on the third floor, which made his study. Harry turned on his laptop, looking for the online channel. They said he would be the second. When he finally put on the show and leant back on the sofa, he almost wasn’t surprised that ‘the Supernova’ were the first ones to be interviewed. Frankly, they were the favourite of many from the show already.  
“And now we are going to visit the band ‘Supernova’ in their natural habitat,” said a black-haired man with a round face into his mic. Harry cringed.  
The camera followed the man to a wooden door, and after the bloke knocked, somebody opened.  
“Hey, mate,” said Louis and stood aside for them to come in. He was wearing a cap. He had headphones around his neck and a huge black-and-yellow hoodie on, along with the black trackies. He looked rather tired, and Harry briefly wondered if their interview was scheduled in the early morning.  
“Hello!” said the nameless reporter as they made it into the room and the camera gave a snapshot of the whole thing.   
It was a small studio with warm, brown coloured walls and equipment. The walls were full of framed posters, and the only source of light were lots of small projectors on the ceiling. It looked stylish and professional. There was a small booth where the songs were recorded, while in the studio itself there was a black leather sofa, a table with an open laptop on it, a high chair and Louis’ guitar leaning against the wall. Liam and Niall were sitting together, trying something on their guitars and muttering to each other, barely acknowledging the camera. Zayn was in the booth, his expression vacant, headphones on. Harry wondered if they were asked to act as if they were busy, or if the reporter actually caught them in the middle of a work-session.   
“So I see you are up bright and early?” said the reporter when the camera turned back to Louis again.  
“Well, mate, I can’t lie, that’s a bit too early for me,” Louis said, stifling a yawn. The reporter laughed nervously, looking as if Louis said the wrong thing. He probably wasn’t supposed to give an honest answer. “But we have to work, you are right.”  
“Well then, I see lots of posters here. Do you mind walking me through them?”  
Louis raised his eyebrows, but nodded and gestured to one closer to the doors. He started explaining about his favourite bands, and how he wanted to put on the covers of his favourite albums or singles on the wall to have some inspiration.   
“So I’m guessing the name of the band came from you, then?”  
Louis chuckled when the camera turned to him, and Harry noticed Zayn behind his back in the booth. The latter was standing with his arms crossed, his chin down — he was nodding off right there, and Harry snorted. Zayn was evidently not a morning person. The camera-man probably noticed it too, because he immediately turned to Niall and Liam, who now dropped pretence and just lounged on the sofa, watching Louis, guitars forgotten by the wall. Niall wasn’t lowering a plastic cup from his lips — Harry took it it was coffee.  
“Well, yeah, you guessed correctly,” Louis said, doing his best to smile through the tiredness. “I was a massive Oasis fun in my time, still am, actually. But can’t say the lads minded it much. Right, lads?” he said and turned to the rest of them, raising his eyebrows. Zayn jumped awake and looked around, confused. As Niall and Liam said something about Oasis too, he stumbled into the room and plopped down on the sofa’s armrest, Niall leaning his head against his side at once. They all looked cosy.  
“So what do you guys do for living?” asked the reporter, when Louis had moved his chair to the sofa and folded himself into it, right knee bent. “Let’s start with you, Louis.”  
“Well, that’s actually my studio, and I write songs.”  
Harry raised his eyebrows. He remembered being confused when on the show they said they knew Louis already — now it made sense. Louis was known in the music industry, then.   
“And what prompted you to get into a band?”  
“Well, I always wanted to do something outside of just writing. Hadn’t studied guitar for nothing, have I?” he said, smiling, and the reporter laughed breathily.  
“Well, good job! Do you write the band’s songs then?”  
“We all do, I just happen to be a bit more experienced.”  
“Right. And how long have you all been a band?”  
“Well, we started as a cover band, didn’t we, lads? It was in uni, me and Liam entered together, and then we met Niall in our freshman year, and put a thing together. And Zayn joined us after we graduated, when we decided to do our own stuff and needed a proper front man,” Louis said and clapped Zayn on the knee. The latter just nodded, looking as if he was about to nod off again. He was probably one of those people who could sleep with their eyes open.  
“And what do you do beyond the band, Zayn?”  
“I teach at a private art-school.”  
“Oh, so you are an artist?”  
“You can say so, yes.”  
“Do you enjoy working with children?”  
“Oh, no, not children. The school is for adults, and yeah, I do enjoy that. Happy I get to get money off of what I like,” he said and smiled, looking absolutely gorgeous, even when so obviously tired.  
“And what about you two?”  
“We have a business together,” said Niall, finishing his coffee. He bent down and put the cup on the floor, and Liam clapped him on the back.  
“Yeah, we have a small guitar shop.”  
“Oh. I see you are all artistic people?”  
Louis snorted but passed it off as a cough. Liam shrugged, smiling politely.  
“I guess you can say so, yeah. I think the main point is that we enjoy what we are doing together.”  
“Just not at seven in the bloody morning,” Niall said under his breath, probably meant only for the boys, but the mic picked it up. Louis laughed bright and clear, and the rest joined him.  
“Well then, that was the interview with ‘the Supernova’ — one of the contestants. Thanks for joining. And you lads, thanks for allowing us to see you at work.”  
“Any time,” Louis said and waved, grinning wide, while Zayn and Niall gave him a glare.   
Harry chuckled and watched his own picture appear on the screen. A female reporter, Ashley — a plump girl with short blue hair — now appeared instead of him, standing in the hall of his own uni. Harry was standing to her right.   
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” she said into the camera, Harry fidgeting in the background. The Harry on the sofa almost rolled his eyes at himself. “Today we are visiting Harry Styles — a promising contestant, who now made it into the semifinals.”  
“Hi,” Harry nodded to the camera, looking, in Harry’s opinion, absolutely pathetic. He thought of the words ‘made it into the semifinals’ — it sounded as if he went through a bunch, whereas in reality the show was just three live concerts, which made the second one a semi-final.  
“So, Harry, tell us a bit about yourself. We are at your workplace now, right?”  
“Yep. I teach Art History at this university. If you follow me, I could show you around?”  
Harry remembered Ashley asking him prior to that to offer a tour around uni during the interview, and how he thought that nobody really cared about his workplace. But there he was, showing them around and talking of how supportive his students were. Well, at least George will be pleased to see it, he thought. When they reached his office, they inserted a clip of Harry at his desk, writing something in his notebook — that was supposed to show his songwriting. Though he never wrote a song at work.  
“When did you write your first song, Harry?”  
“Oh. I was about sixteen, I believe.”  
“And what was it about?”  
“Love,” he said and shrugged. That was a general answer, but he couldn’t really say he wrote the song that was supposed to reflect his heart break of less than a month ago at sixteen, could he?  
“And who was the lucky girl?”  
“I daresay we’ll never know,” he said with another shrug, and Ashley sighed dramatically.  
“The mysterious Harry Styles, ladies and gentlemen. Well, good luck to you, secret man,” she said to him on the screen and Harry bowed a bit.  
“Thank you.”  
The image changed to Harry’s performance now, though it was silent; a voiceover was added instead. Harry cringed again.  
“This Friday night Harry Styles performed a song enough to break our hearts. Left behind by his girlfriend of three years, together with whom he auditioned initially, he takes the stage with only his guitar and that beautiful, beautiful song. The audience was swooned by the man, who has already been named one of the favourites of the show.”  
“Shit,” Harry said and closed the laptop.   
He leant back, wishing he agreed to give the interview about the break up himself. He had asked Jenna on Saturday if they could please avoid the break up thing in the interview with him; how foolish he was to believe they’d let it drop, even if he himself hadn’t talked about it? At least, he thought, it should make him famous.


	4. 4

The waiting room seemed to be as crowded as the last time, even though now there was only a third of them. The band was the opening act, and so Louis and the others weren’t in the room. Harry hadn’t seen them at all today. At the moment his eyes were glued to the screen, just how they would be for the next few hours: he was the last one to perform today. Nice little birthday present for him.   
The four men climbed the stage and Harry noticed that they were dressed almost the same today. He felt a bit inadequate in his jacket and trousers, with an underwear for a shirt, as Gemma called it. The boys all wore dark t-shirts and black jeans, looking classy. He watched them introduce themselves again and strained his ears to hear the name of the song, but nobody in the room seemed to pay attention. Harry slipped out into the corridor and now heard their voices much clearer, though he couldn’t really see them. He walked to the door at the end of the corridor, which would give him the view of the stage, even if quite far away. By the time he opened the doors and finally saw and heard the boys properly, the song had already started. He could see the three at the back looking relaxed, not jumping, while Zayn held onto his standing microphone gracefully.   
It was a cover night, and seeing as they started off as a cover band, Harry could bet anything he had that they would do Oasis. He reckoned they’d sing their namesake, but they chose another one, and rightly so. Zayn’s take on Stop Crying Your Heart Out was breathtaking. Harry thought he knew why they went for a slower-paced song — they wanted to show they weren’t all about the up-beat tunes, they could perform heart-breaking songs, too. He smirked. Did they beat his choice though?  
Technically, he wasn’t the one to propose the song, but he saw that it was perfect for the image they were trying to build for him. That is, a pathetic lover who can’t get over his girlfriend who had been cheating on him for the better part of their relationship. Harry wondered if people still bought into that, now that almost a month had passed since the auditions. How many actually liked that image? Maybe there were some girls who didn’t think it was pathetic but rather lovely? He wondered what Louis thought about it all. If Harry was honest, he wasn’t sure himself what to think.   
There have been days, weeks now, that he thought he was completely over it. But then in the middle of January he found the sheet with lyrics of Olivia when he was cleaning, and his heart clenched. He threw it away immediately, but the aftertaste was bitter. He felt as if he was lying to himself when he was saying that he got over her; but then, when he admitted he didn’t, the pain would go away that very second, and he would be left wondering if he was lying to himself again.  
He hated how complicated the feelings were; he would much rather fast forward a few months, so that he could definitely say he was alright. The truth held he was — most of the time. He now had songs to practice and the show to care about. He kept meeting people who said they liked him, at least one or two a week. It made him smile every time, and forget for a second that they loved a lie, mostly. His today’s song felt like a lie now, because even if he still got pangs of random pain and memories of his past relationship, he definitely wasn’t thinking over it or dreaming of bringing it back. He just wanted the feelings to go away, and set him free again.  
The band finished the song and ran off the stage right to where Harry was stood. He realised it a bit too late when Niall pushed the door wide open and jumped when he saw Harry right behind it.  
“Shit, mate. You scared me,” he said, clutching his heart.  
“Sorry, didn’t mean to. I just wanted to see you better,” he said, as they all filed into the corridor.  
“Hey Harry,” said Liam.  
“I’m Zayn, by the way,” Zayn said and gave him a hand shake.  
“Hi.”  
“Alright?” said Louis, standing on the tiptoes to see Harry over their heads.  
“Yeah. You were sick, lads.”  
“Thanks, mate,” Niall said, clapping him on the back. They lined by the wall to let the girl who was next to perform pass. “I’ll be off, I’m dying for water.”  
“Yeah, I need a smoke. See you, Harry. Good luck,” Zayn said, retrieving.  
“Yeah, break a leg, lad,” Niall called at him from the corridor, as he and Liam walked to the waiting room.  
“Your mates are really nice,” Harry said, turning to Louis and looking at him properly for the first time in a few weeks. The girl on stage started singing.  
“They are alright, yeah,” he said with that smile that made his whole face light up. He started walking to the other end of the corridor, away from the stage, and Harry followed.  
“Nice song choice, by the way.”  
“Surprised you, eh?”  
“Well, I thought you’d choose Champagne Supernova.”  
“We ain’t that cliche.”  
“Well, who knows.”  
“It’s just Zayn couldn’t really pull it off as well as that one. You know, we tried quite a few, but his voice is very specific, so it really narrows the choice.”  
“I think he did amazing.”  
“You do?”  
“Yep. You really smashed it.”  
“Thanks, Curls. What are you singing, then?”  
“Any guesses?”  
“Summat really sappy?”  
“Yeah. I mean, it’s a nice song, I don’t mind it.”  
“We shall see, then.”  
“Yeah,” Harry said, looking at his feet and not knowing what else to say. Suddenly, Louis clapped his hand to his forehead and Harry looked up at the sound.  
“It’s the first of February!”  
“Yes?” Harry said, frowning. “Do you always react like that to random days?”  
“Happy birthday! I’m sorry I haven’t got a present for you. Shit, how could I forget?” Louis asked no one in particular, still looking at Harry with his hand on his forehead.  
“It’s alright. Thanks,” Harry said, intelligent as ever.  
“Let me hug you at least,” Louis said and before Harry could so much as blink, he reached out and removed his guitar from his shoulders. Harry did the same and Louis smiled at him, now looking cheeky. Good, thought Harry; the man was himself again. “A hug from a school crush, eh? What can be a better birthday present?” he said, his mouth now so close to Harry’s ear, that the latter had to shut his eyes tight. He squeezed Louis back.  
“Shame I’m not fourteen, then.”  
“Well, I would much prefer you to be shorter. I’m on my tippy toes now.”  
Harry chuckled and Louis gave him another pat on the back before letting go.  
“So are you celebrating tonight?” he asked, taking a step back.  
“Not really.”  
“Why? You must be twenty five today? That’s a big date.”  
“Eh. I don’t really have someone to celebrate with, family is all home.”  
Louis watched him for a few seconds and then grinned the same mischievous grin Harry saw so many times in his childhood.   
“Well, if you want, we could hit some pubs today? Or any other day?”  
“Oh,” Harry said, swallowing loudly. His cheeks felt hot. “Why though?”  
“Well, I can’t help feeling I owe you some. We didn’t really part well at school, did we?”  
“Yeah,” Harry said, looking at his feet again. He bit his lip. “Thanks for the offer.”  
“Any time. Just call me or pop in whenever.”  
“As if I had your number.”  
“Shit. You right. Here,” he said and handed his unlocked phone to Harry.  
“You serious?”  
“Harry, come on, it’s no big deal. I can’t let a childhood friend cook in their misery on their birthday. Or any other day, really. I meant to do it for ages.”  
“Right,” Harry said, his fingers limp as he entered his number. He couldn’t help thinking that his fourteen year old self would probably give anything for that moment. Truth be told, Harry did feel like his teenage self at the moment. “Here you go,” he said as he gave it back.  
“Thanks, pup,” Louis said, typing something on the screen and soon Harry felt his phone vibrate against his thigh. He should probably turn it off for the performance, he thought, as he took it out.  
“Are you insane?” he said, frowning at Louis’ address on his screen.  
“In what way?” Louis said with another grin, picking up his guitar and swinging its strap back over his head.  
“Do you always give your whereabouts to the people you barely know?”  
“Barely know? You had a crush on me in middle school, for fuck’s sake, Harold.”  
“And that makes you trust me?” Harry said, ignoring the redness on his cheeks.  
“Why shouldn’t I?” Louis said with a shrug, as if it settled the matter.  
“You are insane,” Harry said, as they started walking down to the room. “But thanks. Really.”  
“No problem, pup,” Louis said and raised his hand as if to ruffle Harry’s hair, but dropped it. Harry followed the movement with his eyes and frowned at him.  
“Don’t wanna spoil your hair for the stage,” Louis said then and Harry remembered. He was singing in probably less than an hour. Right.  
“Thanks,” he said, and Louis snorted.  
“You’re welcome. Good luck, and if anything, you know where to find me anytime,” Louis clapped his shoulder one last time and disappeared into the room. Harry watched him go, contemplating whether to follow or stay in the cool corridor. Zayn came from behind him then, clapping him on the back.  
“Good luck, mate,” he said for the second time that day, and Harry felt a strong smell of cigarettes. Zayn didn’t wait for the answer, just slipped into the room again.  
Harry waited the rest of his time either right outside the door on the porch, where people went out to smoke, or in the corridor. He wanted to stay cool for the performance, and by the time his name was called and he ran up the stairs, his head was more or less clear.   
He put on a smile, and seeing a crowd this time sent tingles down his spine. It felt empowering to see all those people waiting for him to perform, even though he knew they came to see him, as well as a dozen others. He took his place by the microphone, introduced himself and started playing the opening cords, feeling the crowd hold their collective breath.  
“I got a girl crush,” he started, schooling his face into regret.  
He liked the tune and he had to admit how perfectly it suited his story. Even the line about ‘long, blond hair’ seemed to be about Elouise. Though he could never for the life of him imagine himself with the said girl. He didn’t care about the two anymore. Singing the song felt strangely liberating; by the time he would finish it, he’d be free of all the shit she put him through, he knew it. It felt like saying goodbye to Olivia.  
Harry stepped back from the mic and closed his eyes, his fingers playing at their own accord. He could hear the crowd applauding feebly over the music, and he could picture himself from the side. He was swinging to the music he himself brought into the room, his eyes closed, his smile dream-like. He opened his eyes slowly and stepped back to the microphone, giving the people in front of him a shy smile. He saw a few girls sending him kisses, and smiled wider, even though it messed up the song a bit. He couldn’t help it if he tried. The stage felt like home, and Harry thought that he would give a lot to come back to it again.  
When he entered the room a few minutes later, breath caught and smile wide on his face, he leant against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment. He knew nobody of the contestants was watching him, and he didn’t care if they did. Only,  
“That was sick, Harold!” he heard from the other end of the room and smiled wider, keeping his eyes closed. He knew Louis stayed where he was, probably lying across Liam and Niall’s lap, so he just called,  
“Thanks, Lou!”  
And that was that. Harry was almost sure he would be through, so he wasn’t surprised when he didn’t feel the anticipation build up in him, as the voice called out names of those who were through to the final. He probably was still high off of stage, because when his name was called right after Supernova, and he felt somebody drag him on stage by the shoulders, he went willingly, opening his eyes only halfway to the stage. And of course, he saw Louis grinning at him from his right, the other three walking ahead of them. They separated on the stage, all contestants smiling at the camera, looking happy, some flustered, some crying. Harry felt liberated.

Harry met Louis in a few hours’ time, dressed in his tight jeans for the second time in the last few years. He was standing on the front porch of Louis’ building, waiting for him to come out. It was a cold night, and the snow was still holding on, though it was very thin. It was dark outside already, but when Louis got out and the light from the lantern fell onto him, Harry couldn’t help but forget about everything for a moment.   
“Alright, pup?” he said, coming closer. Harry blinked.  
“Yeah. Let’s go?”  
“I called a cub, should be here any moment now.”  
“A cub?”  
“You like public transport better?” Louis said with a grin in his voice, which Harry had no trouble imagining, even though half of Louis’ face was covered with a scarf.  
“Where are we going, by the way?”  
“Well, we can check out a new pub that opened a few weeks ago, and if we don’t like it we can leave for any other. Or you have summat specific in mind?”  
“No, not really.”  
“Here you go,” Louis said with a nod and Harry turned around. A car pulled down beside them and Louis held the doors for him.  
“After you, birthday boy.”  
“Thanks,” he said as he climbed in awkwardly, very aware of just how tight his jeans actually were.  
“Nice bum, by the way,” Louis said when he plopped down beside him. He told the driver the address, while Harry tried with all his might not to flush. He failed.  
“Piss off,” he said to his lap and Louis snorted.  
“It’s alright, mine is still better,” he clapped him on the knee. “So how does being twenty five feels?”  
“Did you feel any different?”  
“Nah. No difference after you can legally drink, really,” he said and winked at Harry.   
“Are we getting really drunk tonight?” Harry asked then.  
“Wasted, Harold. I hadn’t had a proper night out in months.”  
“Really?”  
“Yeah, been busy with the songwriting, and then we had to rehearse a lot more with the lads now that we are on the show.”  
Harry watched him, how the lights changed on his face as they drove through the city, his face alife with emotion. Harry bit his lip and looked at his lap once again.  
“So you are, like, famous now?” he said to his hands.  
“No, I don’t want to be famous.”  
“You don’t?” Harry said, looking up at him with his eyebrows raised. Louis shrugged.  
“People get really nosy.”  
“But isn’t it nice? I mean, the attention. And, like, so many just seem to love you?”  
“Well, I’m a songwriter, ain’t I? I don’t really get to share the limelight, and I’m more than alright with that.”   
“Why did you form the band then?”  
“We started at uni, us three, and then we hired Zayn and started performing at pubs our small gigs to get some extra money. My songs weren’t really selling at the time, and Ni and Liam hadn’t started on their guitar thing, so,” said Louis when the car stopped. “Here you go,” he said to the driver, handing him the money before Harry could react. They got out onto the road and Harry said:  
“You shouldn’t have paid, we could split.”  
“Come off it, Curly. It’s your birthday, I’m paying for you today.”  
“What? No.”  
“Yes, Harold, yes,” Louis said as he grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the pub. “And I won’t hear a thing. I don’t know if you make good money with your lectures, but I sure as hell want to get you wasted tonight, and we need more than you can afford,” he said and gave him another wink over his shoulder.  
Harry opened his mouth to say something but trailed off as he looked around, while Louis was getting rid of his jacket. The place was full of people, a small dance floor closer to the stage, where somebody was already singing. People were sitting at small round tables in semi darkness, wooden walls reflecting the cosy yellow light. The place looked warm and welcoming, despite the many people.  
“Close your mouth,” Louis whispered into his ear and clapped him on the cheek.   
Harry did so, embarrassed, and finally took off his coat. He found Louis already at the bar, chatting up the barman.  
“Nice rings, mate,” he said to him. Harry looked at the man. He was very tall and broad in shoulders, his hair dark red and wavy, his eyes set deep and he looked a bit like Shrek, if Harry was honest.   
“Thanks, man,” the barman said and put the empty glasses down. “So what can I get you two?”  
“Harold?” Louis asked, turning to him. He looked absolutely buzzing.  
“I’ll leave it up to you,” Harry said with a smile.  
“You may regret it,” Louis said with another grin. He turned to make their order and Harry remembered a day from long ago when Louis said the same thing.  
It was also Harry’s birthday, he was turning either ten or eleven, he wasn't really sure. His mum had invited the Tomlinsons for dinner, and Louis, the restless kid that he was, whisked him away half way through, when his own mom was busy feeding little Lottie, and other adults were talking about something. Louis grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him into the hall, closing the door behind them.  
“Curls?” he whispered to his ear then, and Harry remembered feeling goosebumps.  
“Lou?” he whispered back, not looking into the face, which was now so close he could probably count his freckles if he wanted to.  
“I have a plan.”  
“What plan?” Harry said and looked at him, frowning. Louis gave him his infamous grin that promised no good. Harry felt himself grinning suit.  
“You may regret it.”  
Harry just shook his head.  
“Out with it.”  
“We need loo paper,” Louis said with the most serious tone he could manage and pulled forward Harry by his forearm.   
They passed the hall where Harry’s cat was sleeping peacefully on a puff and got into the restroom. Harry pulled one roll and Louis gave him a thumbs up before they got out into the corridor again.  
“What are we doing, Lou?”  
“We should stuff all their shoes with it,” Louis said and giggled, covering his mouth with a hand. Harry felt scared at what his parents would think of it, but he grinned and said:  
“Genius!”  
They set to work, looking over their shoulders whenever they heard a sound. They managed to stuff all the guests’ shoes’ fronts with the paper, without it being visible, and stood for a moment, admiring their work.  
“Well done, Curls,” Louis said and nudged Harry with his shoulder. Harry pressed back for a second, gripping onto the leftover paper.  
“Should we place it back?” he asked, waving it in front of his face.  
“Yeah, let’s go.”  
Louis grabbed onto his wrist again, his grip light but steady, and Harry stared at the place of contact, following Louis blindly. And then he stepped on something warm and heard a loud crack.  
“Oi! Dusty!”   
They both looked around and saw Dusty the cat running away, the vase that was on the floor beside the puff smashed to pieces all over the tiles. Harry stood there with his hands over his mouth, Louis looking just as shocked. They looked at each other, terrified, and heard the adults thunder into the hall.  
“Harry, what happened? You two alright?” his mum got to them first and looked at their faces before she even noticed her favourite vase broken.  
“I’m sorry, mum, I promise it was an a-”  
“It was me, Mrs. Twist, I’m really sorry,” Louis said and both Harry and his mum looked at him, identical frowns on their faces.  
“What are you-” Harry started, but Louis interrupted him.  
“I thought we’d pull a joke,” Louis said and waved the half used roll of paper which Harry didn’t remember him taking from his hands. “And I think I set off the cat and she smashed it. I’m really sorry,” Louis said, as his cheeks reddened, but his gaze was firm.  
“No, mum, don’t listen to him, it was me, I stepped on Dusty’s tail and she jumped. I’m sorry.”  
They both looked at her, Johannah joining them all by her side. The two women looked at them, pursing their lips, then gave each other a fleeting look and smiled.  
“Alright then, you trouble makers,” mum said and ruffled both of their hair. “How about you clean it up while I make you some tea, and we could start on the cake?”  
“You are not angry?” Harry asked, completely confused.  
She didn’t answer, instead just smiled at them both and she and Johannah left. Harry looked over at Louis and found him already frowning back.  
“Do you get any of that?” he asked, his shyness around Louis now forgotten for a moment.  
“Nope,” Louis said, shaking his head.  
“Oh, and you have to undo your toilet paper thing, whatever it is,” mum said, popping her head in from the kitchen.  
“Right,” Harry said to her. “Already on it.” 

“Harry, hey, mate,” Louis was saying in the pub. Harry blinked to bring him into focus, small hands snapping fingers in his face. “You alright there?”  
“Yeah. Sorry, zoned out for a mo. Drinks ready?”  
“That’s my Harold,” Louis said and laughed brightly, nudging a glass towards him. Harry sipped at it, Louis watching him. “Alright?” he asked.  
“Mmm,” Harry only said.  
“Come on, Curls. Do you like it?”  
“Yep,” Harry said and grinned at him, already feeling lightheaded from the show today. He didn’t think he really needed much alcohol.  
“Bottoms up?”  
They emptied their small glasses in one go and Harry felt his world waver for a second. He shut his eyes and when he opened them again Louis was standing up.  
“May I have a dance?”  
“Sure.”  
And on and on it went: they would get shots then dance a bit, both clumsy and completely out of tune, but their faces happy. As the night went on, Louis’ grin became lazier, his movements more languid. They weren’t close physically, didn’t really touch, but Harry felt Louis’ presence beside him regardless. He watched him jump to the music, however slow or up-tempo, watched him gulp down alcohol, his hair catching the light just like it did all those years ago on the football pitch.  
Harry, drunk as he was already, tried to perform some arithmetics and count for how long he had really had a crush on Louis Tomlinson. He remembered admiring him from a very small age, but was it really love? He tried to remember himself at ten, when the vase smashing probably happened and Louis stood up for him. He probably was too small to experience falling in love. Then he remembered when he was twelve, Louis fourteen, how he noticed for the first time that Louis Tomlinson was beautiful. He watched him out in the school yard during one of the breaks, as he was talking to his friends and laughing with his head thrown back and his mouth wide open. His laugh carried over others’ chatting, or so it seemed to Harry. It was a gray day, but his hair still managed to catch the dim light that made its way through the white clouds. So maybe it was then that Harry realised he fell in love with the boy? Probably still too early.  
It had to be when he was thirteen, though Harry couldn’t quite put his finger on when exactly, because as Louis grew older and more popular in school, he didn’t pop into their house for celebrations that often. True, they were never even good friends before, but Harry was sure to meet him out of school at least once a month, be it somebody’s birthday, or mother’s day or New Years.   
Harry knew for sure he was arse over ears for him when he reached fourteen, hence the confession. But when it clicked, he didn’t know. Maybe he would when he sobered up. But if he counted from fourteen onwards, it would probably make it until the end of his freshman year of college — before the time he started hanging out with Olivia and Elouise. Which made it what? Five years?  
Harry snorted into his fist when he realised he was in a love with the boy, whom he never saw since, for longer than he was in his one and only relationship of his life. Pathetic.  
“What you laughing at?” Louis shouted over the music. They were on the dance floor, Harry swaying slightly from all the alcohol running through his veins. Later, he blamed his next words on vodka.  
“I just realised I was in love with you for longer than with anyone else,” he said, bending down and speaking into Louis’ ear. His tongue felt slack in his mouth, and he felt Louis’ small warm hands on his waist. He was probably holding him up from falling.  
“Oh, Harold,” Louis said and Harry felt a hand in his hair. He closed his eyes and brought his arms around Louis, squeezing him tight. “You alright, lad?”  
“Mhmm,” Harry said, because he wasn’t really capable of producing human sounds anymore — Louis’ body was way too warm and comfortable to hug. They were very close now, probably closer than they ever were, but Harry didn’t have enough in him to care, not at the moment. All he wanted was to touch Louis Tomlinson.  
“Good lad,” Louis said quietly, and his voice somehow carried over the music. It was probably because he was speaking into Harry’s ear, but Harry liked to think of more eloquent reasons. “Do you want to get out, have some fresh air?”  
“Mhmm,” Harry said again, trying to straighten up, but failing miserably.  
“Here, here,” Louis said and grabbed Harry’s shoulders to steady him. “Can you walk?”  
Harry nodded, looking into the blue, and Louis led him towards the entrance, his hand on Harry’s waist.  
“Wait, love,” Louis said as he stopped by the hanger and grabbed their jackets. Harry pressed his coat to his chest, not really knowing why he needed it. They walked onto the porch and Louis lent him against the wall. “Come on,” he said, taking his coat and helping Harry into it. “Here. Now you are warm,” he said and clapped him on the chest. Harry caught his hand in both his own, leaning with his back against the wall again. He rolled his head to the side to have a better look at Louis. He was watching Harry with his eyebrows high, but he looked amused.  
“Your hand is cold,” Harry said and gave it a squeeze, as if it somehow justified his actions. It probably did.  
“Right,” Louis said and laughed breathily; it wasn’t his usual loud laughter, but something more unsure. Harry liked that he made his confidence waver a notch.  
“Com ‘ere,” he mumbled, and before Louis could say anything he pulled him closer, hugging him once again. “Are you warm?” he asked into his hair, pulling him even closer.  
“Yes, Harold, I am. Thanks,” Louis said, his voice muffled by Harry’s t-shirt from where his face was pressed against his chest. Harry felt his small hands squeeze his waist gently. “You alright up there?” Louis asked, sounding amused.  
“Yep.”  
“Just tell me if you gonna puke, alright? Don’t want you to ruin my hair and all that.”  
Harry cackled, hiding the ugly sound in Louis’ shoulder. He kept laughing, even snorted, and it was a mark of how drunk he was that he didn’t care. He hiccuped himself into calmness, his face still in the crook of Louis’ neck. That meant his own neck was strained painfully, but he didn’t really care. He liked how close their faces were now, how Louis smelled musky — the smell Harry could never catch under all Olivia’s perfumes, but the one he missed since he last saw Louis. He wondered if he tasted the same.  
Harry raised his head and looked at Louis, waiting for him to meet his gaze. When he did, he wasn’t smiling. He was looking Harry right in the eye, his own blue making Harry drown a little. Harry glanced at his mouth, silently asking for permission, but he didn’t really look back into the eyes before leaning in, afraid to drown completely. He almost touched their lips together, but then Louis leant back.   
“Harry, no,” he said, squeezing his waist gently. Someone passed them somewhere on the pavement, but Harry didn’t care. He was drowning in the blue now.  
“Why not?” he asked, still close, so childish.  
“Just no, alright? Let’s not make it weird,” Louis said and gave him a weak smile, only a shadow of what Harry had enjoyed the whole evening.  
“Please? Just one kiss? For my birthday?” Harry said again and pouted. Louis chuckled at that, but his sunny demeanor was gone now.  
“Sorry. No kisses for the birthday boy.”  
Harry leant in quickly and as Louis exclaimed “Harry, no!” he pecked him on the mouth and let go, smiling sheepishly. The world seemed to come back into focus, he heard footsteps again, the music from the pub, someone shouting in the streets. Louis was just shaking his head, standing a feet or two away from him.  
“Sorry,” Harry said with a grin.  
“Let’s get you home,” Louis said and fished out his phone to call a cub. Harry watched as Louis said their address, his head hung low, not looking at Harry.  
“Thank you,” Harry said for the umpteenth time that evening after Louis finished his call.  
“No problem,” Louis said and turned around to lean against the wall beside Harry.   
Harry didn’t dare stare at him anymore, as drunk as he still was, he realised something was off now. He wanted to apologize, but he was way too drunk to pull coherent words out, so he bit his tongue, and they waited for the car in silence. The drive was quiet, too — a sharp contrast to how it was just a few hours ago. When they stopped by his flat, Harry mumbled another ‘Thank you’ and got out of the car without another look at Louis, feeling like he wouldn’t like what the morning would bring at all.


	5. 5

Harry woke up to the beating of little hammers inside his head. He turned to his side, feeling as if a bunch of stones inside his scalp tumbled down. Metaphors, ha.  
He moaned and stretched his arms up, enjoying the ache of his muscles. He sat up slowly and rubbed at his eyes, smelling the disgusting aftertaste of yesterday's booze. Yesterday, right. Louis, the almost kiss. He should probably apologize. But first, shower.  
Harry took his time under the scaldingly hot water, hoping it would extract the last bits of the poison still running through his veins. He washed his hair slowly, reminding himself that he was twenty five now. He wondered if being a prof was enough for twenty five. Had Louis already made a success as a songwriter by this age? Better not think about him now, though. Harry at least needs some clothes on first, or he’ll add another regret to the upsettingly growing list of embarrassing moments somehow connected to Louis Tomlinson. There went his crush, the pathetic confession, the idiotic kiss from yesterday, his first ever song people thought was about Olivia, the songwriting in general. Louis seemed to still be a huge part of Harry’s life even though he had left it so early on. Funny, that one.  
He patted into the bedroom, leaving water dripping behind him, so that if he were to disappear right about now, the detective would be able to at least trace his path around the house. But really, Harry was hungover, really, really hungover.  
He took his time drying his hair on a towel, pinned the top of it away from his face, chucked on a huge sweater and trackies and finally went up into the kitchen. He stopped dead in his tracks when he heard someone was already there. Harry looked up and saw Olivia, of ll people, staring back at him. Was he hallucinating?  
“What are you doing here?” he asked, finally bringing his foot down onto the step. He was still standing halfway up the stairs and gripping the handrail hard.  
Olivia was the epitome of a deer in the headlights — she paused in the middle of her search for something in the kitchen drawer and was looking at Harry like she really wished he hadn’t caught her.  
“What are you doing here?” he asked again, surprised at how harsh his voice had turned. It was probably just his hangover voice, though. Do people have hangover voices? She finally unfroze and blinked at him, pushing the drawer shut.  
“Hi, Harry,” she said and almost smiled, but thought better of it once she caught his expression. “I, erm… I was looking for my powerbank,” she said, gesturing to the drawer.  
“Your powerbank?”  
“Yeah. Remember that one you got me for Christmas last-”  
“What are you even on about?” Harry said, finally emerging all the way into the kitchen. “It’s been more than a month by now, and you said you got everything you needed and left the key? How did you even get in?” he said, folding his arms and ignoring the steady beat of hammers inside his head.   
“Sorry. I just- I think I miss you, Harry,” she said quietly, looking at him sheepishly. She was probably expecting open arms and hugs and kisses. Tough luck, thought Harry, folding his arms tighter. Tough fucking luck.  
“You do, do you? How did you get in?”  
“El had the third key. I’m sorry.”  
“Give it here,” he said, stretching out an open palm. Olivia looked at him as if he just slapped her on the face. “Give me the key. It’s my place, you had no right to come in.”  
“But I thought...”  
“What?”  
“On the show, your songs, I thought...” she trailed off, still staring at him in disbelief.  
“Oh come off it, you are not that stupid, are you?” Harry said, laughing humorlessly. He felt angry, but maybe it was due to the pain, not so much to her presence. He didn’t care. He felt dark satisfaction rush through him at the sight of her.  
“What do you mean?”  
“It’s a show, they asked me to play the role of a heart broken idiot, who still misses his girlfriend. Come on, you could put two and two together, you are not that stupid.”  
“Why are you like this?” she asked, her eyes welling up with the tears.  
“Like what? What did you expect? That I’d see you and melt into a pool of goo?”  
“I… I...”  
“You should go. But give me the keys. Please.”  
She wordlessly handed them over, stepping closer to reach his palm. Harry pocketed them and stepped aside, pointing at the doors.  
“And don’t come back, you hear me?”  
“Yes,” she said, opening the entrance doors. “Sorry.”  
“Bye.”  
“See you.”  
“I really hope not,” he said before she closed the door.   
There was silence in the room, and as Harry exhaled he felt a knot he didn’t feel occur untangle now. He dropped into the nearest chair and looked at the kitchen. It looked absolutely the same as it did yesterday, but Harry knew it would take a long time till he stopped seeing her rummaging through a drawer and the complete shock he experienced at the sight. There was one good thing though. If Olivia believed the media’s bullshit, the audience must too.  
Harry fixed himself a cup of tea, as his heart gradually started to slow down. He grabbed his phone when he came back to his bed, putting on the TV. He felt his heart sank when he didn’t get any notifications; and while it was a normal occurrence for him, he still went and double checked the chat with Louis, but he really didn’t text anything. Harry tried to remember the details of last night — he remembered dancing and drinking and dancing and drinking, and then fresh air and his awkward kiss which seemed to put Louis off. He tried to estimate how bad it really was. After all, it wasn’t even a kiss, Harry just pecked him on the lips. On the other hand, Louis did say no a couple of times. Harry sighed, his brain already starting to turn to jelly. He needed painkillers for that.  
After he had taken the cure he laid back on the bed and turned the volume up on the screen. He listened to the news half-heartedly, trying to process the last night. Then he remembered that he saw Olivia not half an hour ago and thought that she was worth pondering about, too. Although that one was simple. The only real question there should be whether she still loved him — that is, if she ever did love him — or she just thought he was miserable and came in to apologize for leaving. Harry decided he didn’t give a shit about it. And so he let his thoughts run back to Louis. Should he text now and say he was sorry? Or maybe he’d better call? Or even come to his place? The latter would probably be way too intrusive, he reckoned after some consideration. He could try and text him first.  
Harry rolled over to his side and opened their chat on his phone. He briefly wondered if Louis was still sleeping, but it was nearing noon, so unless he was a really, really late bird, he should be awake. That made Harry freeze for a moment, his thumbs hovering above the screen. The immediacy of Louis’ reaction frightened him. Maybe he should wait some more?   
He dropped the phone and closed his eyes, trying to think up a way out. He couldn’t really see any other solution. He knew it was him who fucked up, so it had to be him who would take the first step, if he ever wanted to see Louis again. And this was out of the question.  
‘hey Lou, it’s Harry,’ he typed and almost facepalmed. Of course Louis would know who he was, he had his number. He deleted the last part.  
‘hey Lou! I’m sorry for yesterday, I really shouldn’t have done that. I know it’s not something to decide in texting, so maybe we could meet up? or call? would you be okay with that?’  
He hit the send button before he could change his mind and stared at the screen, waiting. The painkillers probably started to work, because his head didn’t feel full of stones now. But then he saw that his text got read and his heartbeat picked up at once, his head hurting faintly again. Louis started typing, and Harry just stared, unable to do anything else.  
‘it’s alright, i know we were both drunk. don’t beat yourself up for it and don’t worry’  
Harry stared at the message, somehow feeling worse than he did before he read it. He didn’t know Louis that well, true, but he could see this was only half hearted. He bit his lip till the pain was sharp enough.  
‘are you angry at me?’ he sent to Louis.  
‘no, of course not. we are good’  
‘you sure?’  
‘positive:)’  
Harry stared again. He supposed he deserved it, after last night. And maybe Louis just needed some time to accept his apology. Harry threw his phone to the side. After all, that was his only hope.  
* * *  
Harry entered the waiting room for what felt like twentieth time in the last few months, but was really only the third. He looked around, hoping to finally see Louis, but he couldn’t find him, nor his band anywhere. He swallowed. They hadn’t communicated in anyway since that morning two weeks ago. Harry felt more and more humbled by the day, as what he took to be a trifle at first rose a whole bunch of guilt in his chest. He didn’t have the heart to text Louis or, god forbid, come to his place now.   
He reckoned he shouldn’t be bothered, because he didn’t have Louis in his life as a constant since he was fourteen, and seeing him four times in the space of the last few months shouldn’t mean anything. But somehow Harry felt connected to him, as if they really weren’t bothered by the enormous gap of a little more than a decade. He knew they weren’t properly friends, but he knew they weren’t just acquaintances either. He spent last night imagining meeting Louis rather than his final performance. He tried to imagine every possible reaction Louis could have. He could get angry and stare at Harry; he could be happy and apologize for not texting because he was busy; he could play it cool and just acknowledge his presence. But Harry was at least hoping to see him; he didn’t expect to not see Louis at all.  
He kept looking at the entrance, as if hoping to make Louis materialize out of thin air. Surprisingly, that didn’t help his case. He stayed in the room for as long as possible, but then he was told it would be his turn soon, and he left the room, feeling disheartened.   
The guitar was a heavy weight on his shoulders, he was looking at his feet that somehow felt too big at the moment. His black suit and black t-shirt felt too hot and suffocating, so he kept taking deep breaths on his way through the corridor. He passed the spot where he was watching the band last time and stopped for a second, wishing to go back in time.   
His disappointment at not seeing Louis mingled with the growing worry of playing the final song, the result making him feel sick. He raised his head and took a look at the stage, still preparing for the beginning of the show — Harry was the opening act. The audience was restless, its huge body fidgeting, mumermering, sometimes laughing out of the blue. People kept running around the stage, fixing the last-moment things here and there, and then the lights went off, only the stage was lit by the projector.   
Harry gripped his guitar tighter, feeling his knees turn to feathers and his breakfast making its way up his throat. He swallowed harshly, listening to the opening lines of the big finale. He could hear people run around behind him in the corridor, voices mixing as he was trying to get himself together. But then he heard a voice that made everything inside him clench simultaneously.   
Harry turned around so quickly he was surprised he didn’t strain his neck. Louis caught his gaze at once, mid conversation with Zayn. They both looked posh in their suits and with their hair done properly for once, but Harry didn’t really have the time to take it in. He heard his name called out as Louis kept looking at him with his mouth half opened. The sound of Harry’s name seemed to awaken him though, and in the next second he grinned and showed Harry a thumbs up. Harry felt a matching grin appear on his own face, without permission, and had half the mind to walk to Louis, but reminded himself that he had a song to perform.   
So he ran to the stage, accompanied by the applause. He was still grinning when he reached his microphone, a bit breathless from running.  
“Hi!” he said, looking around and catching smiles from the audience.  
“Alright, Harry, with what will you break our hearts today?” asked Ashley, though she was smiling. Harry reminded himself that he should be heartbroken. He waited for the murmur to quiet, willing his face to stop smiling. When he got the attention of the whole audience, he said:  
“It’s called If I could Fly.”  
“Sounds painful enough for me. Good luck, love,” she said and left the stage.  
Harry looked at the audience once again and took a deep breath. They seemed to be watching him now, and Harry finally felt his nerves come back to him after they flew out the window when he saw Louis. He focused on his grinning face when he started playing. He didn’t know if he was surprised to learn that Louis’ image hadn’t left him all through the song; should he be surprised? They weren’t anything close to lovers, never were, but Harry felt like that now. He allowed himself a luxury of seeing the man as the one worthy of the song. It wasn’t far from the truth — Harry wrote this one about Louis, too.   
He was in his first year of college, thinking of how he and Louis were now in the same city but with no real perspective of meeting each other. He thought of how their lives would have worked out had they dated. Harry knew he would have followed Louis anywhere — “such was the beauty of Louis Tomlinson”, he remembered writing, “once you caught a glimpse, you could never get enough”.   
Harry didn’t know what to make of the song now. He guessed he should be grateful for the chance his songs got at all — after all, there was no way they could get out, but now all of them suited the lie perfectly. Maybe it was always meant to be, Harry thought. Maybe it was Harry’s fate to get heartbroken and write beautiful songs which people could connect with. He finished the song feeling utterly confused, but pleased with how much the people liked it. He left the stage feeling happy again, high on the audience’s energy.  
He entered the almost empty room — only five made it to the finale. Harry looked around, feeling light and happy, but his smile slid off his face when he saw that who he was looking for wasn’t there. He dropped onto for once free sofa and stared at the screen to his right. He felt almost alone in the room, the only two women sitting quietly each in their own corner. Emilija was drinking water, her red hair licking her shoulders in little coils. The other woman, Hanna, smiled at Harry when he looked at her.  
“Good luck,” Harry said to her and returned the smile.  
She only nodded and Harry thought that she was probably too nervous to speak, even though she didn’t look it.   
They all looked at the screen when Roger started singing, his deep raspy voice filling the room to the brim. Hanna closed her eyes and leant back, Emilija lowered her now empty bottle and stared at the screen, not blinking. Harry just waited for the man to finish, because he knew that Supernova were next.  
When he saw them climb the stage, he found himself holding his breath. They looked very different to the demeanor they tried to go for at the first show. Harry wondered if that was done on purpose to show how versatile their style was or if their manager whisked them into that direction, seeing as all the songs in the finale so far have been slow.  
They were all wearing matching black suits, and Harry thought of how well he would have fitted in today — he was wearing all black too. Their hair was sleek, they looked like they had just left the red carpet, to be honest. Zayn was standing in front of them once again, ready to sing the majority of the song, and he was, to put it simply, breathtaking. His hair was quite long now. It framed his face in a way that reminded Harry inexplicably of Italy and street artists from a few hundreds years ago. His lean body hugged in black seemed to reflect him the best, especially when he started singing, his voice washing over everyone and everywhere in soft waves.   
Their song was called Fool’s Gold and it was, Ashley would say, heart-breaking. Louis was smiling gently into the distance behind Zayn, his posture smaller, but just as handsome. His hair was combed pack at the temples, which made him actually look his fortune for once. Harry noted that it was as if they went from teenagers to adults in the space of the three shows, and whereas Harry stayed loyal to the initial image, the boys showed progress.  
He realized that this was the final show. He knew that before, but hearing Zayn’s voice now made it final in his mind, along with another thought — maybe it’s the last time he’d see Louis in a long time. At least till the next pre-Christmas dinner, that is. That made Harry’s breath hitch. He had to talk to Louis today and settle down whatever shit there was between them.  
Then he thought that he probably shouldn’t be thinking of how beautiful the band’s song was — they were competing, after all; Harry forgot how much he wanted to win the thing a few weeks ago, when he just learnt he was through to the final. But somehow the night at the pub with Louis left more memories and adrenaline in his blood than did the show. It wasn’t as big a part of his life as he thought it would have been when they entered their names all this time ago.  
The band climbed off the stage and Harry turned to the doors immediately, determined to talk to Louis. Only that he didn’t show up. When Hanna was singing her song already and the boys still weren’t there, Harry emerged into the corridor only to find it empty. He strained his ears and heard a muted conversation. He frowned and looked around, finally noticing the door to the back porch, where Zayn usually smoked, ajar. He took a few steps towards it and the voices grew louder. They sounded happy, excited, discussing something Harry really had no idea about.  
He could see Louis smoking, standing on the ground by the steps and Niall’s back right in front of the door. Harry swallowed and tip toed backwards, trying not to be heard. He breathed a sigh a relief when he reached the room again and softly closed the doors. Neither Roger nor Emilija paid him a slightest bit of attention, so he just dropped onto his sofa, glad to be left alone.   
He heard Hanna come back and Emilija leave the room right before her, but no certain four people entering. He was glad now; seeing them together in their own little world made Harry feel like an intruder, and he wanted some time to get his shit together.  
He straightened up only about an hour later, when they finished the voting and called all the participants onto the stage. He took his place at the start of the line, Roger to his right. Supernova the band were huddled together, their arms around each others’ shoulders. Harry’s eyes lingered on them, half wishing he was one of them, half wishing Louis would look his way. But the said man had eyes only for the audience, and so Harry looked towards the people too. He thought the crowd looked like boiling water, moving constantly, but staying a wholesome big body. He was pretty sure if he looked close enough he would see steam rising off of them — it must be quite hot down there; at least that was what he remembered well from the gigs he himself attended.   
“Alright!” Ashley said into her mic and Harry jumped, having gotten transfixed by the crowd. “We now have the results of the voting. Excited?” she asked the crowd and it gave a collective ‘oooo’ and a round of applause. The contestants stirred, smiling nervously. Harry felt pressure building inside, bubble by bubble, ready to burst at any moment. “The third place goes to...” Ashley smiled widely at the crowd, as it seemed everybody, contestants included, held their breath. “Hanna Zimmer!”   
Hanna laughed, looking relieved, and stepped forward to say thank you. As she was speaking, Harry watched Roger shift in his place, probably ready to go take his second place. Harry didn’t feel he did enough to take the second, or the first places. He knew the Supernova were bound to take one of the two: they had Louis the songwriter, for fuck’s sake.   
Hanna joined them back, with flowers in her hands and a happy smile. Harry nodded at her as she passed him, and she smiled wider.  
“The second place goes to… drum roll… the Supernova!”  
The boys actually jumped, Louis drawing them all into a huge hug. People in the audience laughed at their reaction, and Harry couldn’t help his grin, which for a second helped him forget his own worries building up. Was he worth the first place, really? And is it okay if he took it even though it was all basically a lie? He didn’t want to think about that, so instead he focused on the boys’ words. Liam was speaking:  
“A massive thank you to everyone who voted, you guys are incredible. Thank you so much. We are very happy to take a place here. Thank you.”  
“And keep an eye out for an album, we are thinking of recording one!” Louis said, bending over Niall.  
“Watch it if you want to hear good music!” Niall added and burst out laughing, boys following suit. Zayn didn’t say anything, just laughed along.  
“Aren’t you wonderful,” said Ashley as they took their place back in the line, chatting quietly. “Alright. Here goes the big reveal!”  
Harry felt Roger tense up beside him, glimpsed Emilija twitching her fingers behind her back. He felt almost sick again as he watched Ashley open the third envelope.  
“Oh, I knew it,” Ashley said and almost rolled her eyes. She turned to the contestants this time and looked directly at Harry. Harry, to say the least, felt his stomach drop out of him and had half the mind to look down and check. “And the winner is Harry Styles! Come ‘ere, love!” she gestured for him to come over as she said it, probably seeing the shock clear on his face. Harry made himself walk the short distance forward and was glad for her hug. “Congratulations!” she whispered over all the applause and let him go.  
“Thank you,” he said to her and she gestured to the mic. “Erm,” he said and a few people laughed. “Thank you, I- I’m shocked, to be honest. Thank you to everyone who voted, thank you to everyone who stopped me in the streets and said they liked the songs. Thank you. Don’t hesitate to come up to me, by the way. I don’t bite!”  
That made them all laugh, and earned him another pat on the back from Ashley. He took his place back in the line, ignoring Roger’s hateful look and feeling like his knees had finally evaporated. He got transfixed by the audience once again; he watched people, girls mostly, sending him air kisses, smiling and waving, and he waved back. Ashley was saying something, probably the closing lines, but he didn’t really hear. He won. He fucking won! But what does he do now?  
He didn’t have time to worry about it though, not when he literally got swept off on his way into the little corridor by girls. They all wanted a picture, a hug and an ‘I love you’ back, and he felt intimidated. But Harry took his first real burst of fame stoically, coming back to life with each hug and autograph and ‘thank you’. He saw other contestants doing the same, though they had a clear path much earlier than he managed to. But finally, after probably twenty or thirty people left him be, Harry made his way into the waiting room, feeling absolutely buzzing.  
“Louis!” he said as he entered the waiting room but stopped midway. The room was absolutely empty. Harry gave it another look, just to make sure, feeling his excitement sipping away. “Right,” he mumbled, as if anyone could hear him.


	6. 6

Harry walked into the university the Monday after the show only to be jumped on.  
“Congratulations!” George shouted, practically hanging off of Harry. Harry patted him on the back, chuckling.  
“Thanks, Paddington. Appreciate your support,” he said as George let go and stepped back. “You alright, lad?” Harry asked, still smiling.  
“Yes, Mr. Styles! I’m just happy for you, I really am,” George said and looked at his feet, probably embarrassed at his reaction. Harry looked around the hall — it was still early, only the student at reception desk staring at his computer.   
“Thanks. Really, George, it’s all good,” Harry said and clapped the boy on the shoulder. George looked at him, his cheeks still rosy. Harry grinned and ruffled his hair. “Never took you for the love songs type,” he said and that earned him a snort.  
“I love a good song,” George shrugged and they started down the corridor.  
They walked down to the teachers’ room, chatting. When George left, Harry made his way inside, nodding at the fellow teachers. No one else really acknowledged that he had won a music show a few nights ago, so he just took his usual corner, sorting through the outline of his lecture. The weekend had been busy: Harry received a few calls from Jenna, saying he now had to pick up a manager if he wanted to build a career, and that she had a couple people who wanted to work with him. He thought it was rather insane — becoming famous overnight — but he’d take what he could. He felt excited as an email after email filed into his inbox, and he could now proudly say he found himself a manager — more like, Jenna did it — and Harry took a note to send her a huge cake or flowers for that. He now planned to try and record an EP, which, frankly speaking, was absolutely sick. He had to discuss it with Michael though. He was finally getting famous.  
Robin, Gemma and mum all called him on Friday to congratulate and he promised to come for a visit in the next month or two. That is, if he had time, of course. Juggling lecturing and music should prove quite tough, but Harry was absolutely sure it would be worth it.  
The thing was, Harry loved his day job. History of Art was fun to teach, and if his full classes were anything to go by, he did a good job. He remembered his first ever taught class, how he stressed out about the plan for one lecture the whole evening prior; how his mum had to tell him it was going to be alright in the morning; how he ate a whole bag of biscuits in one go, because he was nervous — now he couldn’t look at them, really. And it wasn’t amazing, he was fumbling, flushing from the first minute in, but his preparation did the trick. He remembered how he was afraid a student would ask something he wouldn’t know the answer to, or that he would ask somebody and they’d just refuse to answer. But the students varied from invested to indifferent — nobody actually hated him. And now as he entered his sixth semester, he was confident. There weren’t really many Georges in his classes, but he still had his questions answered and essays written.  
Oh, and also, Harry looked like a cool professor — or at least he thought so. He always liked when young people taught, there is just something attractive about someone who is young and handsome and clever. And he got a chance to wear glasses in public, which made him look like a hipster, really, but a fashionable one. George smirked at him all those years ago, during the first ever class of intro to Art History, as Harry entered the classroom in his wide trousers and a jacket, glasses on and a backpack in hand. But now nobody noticed, and if Harry said it was cool, it was cool alright.  
He left his last lecture right after the noon and before he left the building, his phone buzzed.  
“Michael?” Harry asked, confused. He got out onto the porch and stopped to listen.  
“Harry, have you seen the articles?”  
“What articles?”  
“Shit. We are in trouble, son.”  
“What happened?” Harry said, feeling his good mood evaporate, the worry boiling stronger by the second.  
“You know the bloke Louis Tomlinson, right?”  
“We grew up together, yeah?”  
“Did you hang out with him at the start of the month?”  
“Yes?” Harry said, remembering the pub night with a pang of guilt. He really needed to apologize.  
“Alright, so there is an article about you two. I think I’d better email it to you. Call me back as soon as you read it, alright?”   
“Alright,” Harry said and hung up, going to his email.   
He trotted off the porch and dropped onto one of the benches heavily. He opened up the article.   
“Not Heartbroken?”  
“The newbie to music industry, Harry Styles, 25, had just won a famous music TV-show, and is rumored to start recording his solo music. The people loved him for his love songs, presumably dedicated to his ex-girlfriend, who had left him just before the TV auditions. But is the man as innocent as we thought he was?  
Harry Styles was spotted trying to kiss Louis Tomlinson, another contestant from the show. The two were snuggling up in front of a pub on the first night of February. Not really what you would expect from a man who just got his heart broken, is it? However, as one of the eye-witnesses suggests, when Harry tried to kiss Louis, the latter explicitly said ‘no’. That Styles did not take well and proceeded with the kiss, which prompted Tomlinson to push him away.   
Seems like our new little star is hungry for romance once again. Or maybe the man looks for another heart-break? He needs to write new music, after all.”  
Harry swallowed loudly, staring at the words. Was it really that bad? Did he assault Louis? Was it why he wouldn’t talk to him? Did Louis give the information? What was going on?  
He dialed Michael’s number.  
“What was that?” Harry said instead of greeting.  
“That’s what I wanted to ask you.”  
“Michael, I didn’t- I swear it wasn’t like that.”  
“Do you think it wasn’t or it really wasn’t?”  
“I- I- I dunno,” Harry said and bent his head, his free hand fisting in his hair. “We were drunk, and then I just pecked him. It wasn’t even a kiss, I swear.”  
“Alright. You said you grew up together?”  
“Yes.”  
“Can you talk to the bloke, so that he could make a statement that it wasn’t like that?”  
“I guess?” Harry said, equally hopeful and terrified. Was it like that?  
“Harry. You need to do it. For your own career.”  
“Is it bad? I mean the article? Will people believe it?”  
“Well, there aren’t any pictures anywhere, at least yet, that must be a good sign. But the first article got out a few hours ago, and now there are more and more every hour.”  
“Fuck.”  
“Harry, calm down. People know there are always rumors about such things. You just got famous, something was bound to come up.”  
“Was it?”  
“Were you expecting a path laid in rose petals?” Michael asked, and Harry heard a faint smile in his voice.  
“I hoped so,” Harry said, grabbing onto the smile.  
“You idiot. Alright then, I’ll see what I can do with the articles, maybe I’ll get an interview for you or something, but sort it out with the bloke first, okay? We need him to say the same thing that you do for it to work.”  
“Yeah, okay, I’ll try.”  
“Do it as soon as possible. I’ll call you back tomorrow, okay?”  
“Yeah. Thanks for everything. Wouldn’t know what to do without you.”  
“Harry, I’ll get paid for it, remember?”  
“Yeah, but still, thanks. I really appreciate it.”  
“No problem, son, no problem. Hope to hear good news from you tomorrow.”  
“See you.”  
Harry stared at the black screen for a while, contemplating whether to call Louis now or later. He decided he could do with a cup of tea first. He stood up, his bum slightly damp from the bench, and walked to the bus stop. He imagined everyone looking at him like he was a disaster, but no one paid him any attention. He supposed he should be grateful the busses weren’t full in the middle of the day.  
After he changed into dry clothes and fixed himself a cup, Harry curled up on his bed and pressed the call button. Every second his worries were growing and growing like one huge bubble. He got transferred to the voice mail and hung up, feeling relieved and more worried at the same time. He called his mum instead.  
“Hi love,” she said and Harry felt a bit calmer, warmth spreading through him with the tea.  
“Hey mum,” he said, and closed his eyes. “Did you see the articles?” he asked as everything inside him froze for a second.  
“About you and Louis?” she said, finally letting tenseness show.  
“I didn’t do it, mum, I promise. It wasn’t like assault or anything.”  
He heard her let out a breath and felt immediately guilty. Was he lying right now? He couldn’t be sure till he talked to Louis.  
“Of course, dear, of course. I thought they were just rumours. Have you talked to Louis yet?”  
“No, he is not picking up. Probably busy or something.”  
“Oh. I’m sure you two will figure it out, it shouldn’t blow up.”  
“I really hope so.”  
“I’m sorry, dear, I need to go now, I’ll call you in the evening when I get back. Everything okay?”  
“Yeah, it’s fine. Have a good day.”  
“I love you.”  
“Love you, too.”  
Harry lay on his bed the rest of the day, fixing a few more cups. Louis didn’t call back, and agitation in Harry only grew larger, eating at his insides. He talked to his mum, but that didn’t help the matter either. He ended up under his covers, with TV on and his blinders down. He didn’t dare check his emails or news pages — his belly felt full of worms just thinking about it, let alone actually going there. He texted Gemma for a bit, explaining what happened, but she said just what mum did — he and Louis should be able to figure it out. Only then why wouldn’t Louis pick up? Harry didn’t phone him after that voice mail, but he would have seen the missed call and the articles by now, right?  
Harry ended up typing out a text:  
“Hi! I hope I’m not disturbing. I called you today but got to voicemail, so I thought to check in. Have you seen the articles? Please call me back so we could talk about it? Harry”  
He hit the send button, but never stayed up to see it read. It was nearing midnight now, and Louis was still hiding somewhere. Harry fell asleep with his phone in his hand.  
He woke up to the working TV and the sound of his alarm. The events from the day before hit him like a freight train, and Harry immediately checked his phone. His stomach sank when he saw no texts or calls from Louis. It was with a sinking feeling that he got ready for work that morning, looking down at his feet all the commute to the university. He saw George as soon as he entered, but the man made as if he didn’t notice Harry. Harry stopped in the middle of the corridor and frowned at him.  
“George?” he said, uncertain. He felt fear’s cold hand grabbing at his innards.  
“Good morning,” he said, not looking up from his papers.  
“George, you didn’t read the articles, did you?” Harry said and took a few steps closer. He stopped when George looked up, looking brave but guilty at the same time. “Oh, you did,” Harry said.  
“Is it true?” George asked, tentatively.  
“Do you believe it?” Harry asked with challenge in his voice now. George only shrugged. “Well then,” Harry said. “If you believe every rubbish you read then I can’t help you, Paddington,” he said and smiled humorlessly. He felt angry and hollow. George got red in the face and walked away, gripping his papers harder than necessary.   
Harry made his way to the teacher’s room, but was stopped by the principal.   
“Mr. Beckerson?” he said, tensing up again.  
“I need to talk to you, Mr. Styles.”  
“Right,” said Harry and followed him to his study.  
“Please sit down,” Mr. Beckerson said as they walked in. Harry dropped into the chair in front of his desk, while the man stood a few feet in front of him, his hands clasped behind his back. “I know that you got rather famous in the media last weekend,” he started and Harry watched him walking from one wall to the other. “And I was quite happy for your victory at the show. You are talented, that’s no doubt.”  
“Thank you.”  
“But I wanted to talk to you about the news that emerged yesterday,” he paused in his walking and looked at Harry directly.  
“Yes, sir?” Harry said, gripping onto his backpack tighter. He felt hot in his coat.  
“Now, I was quite content to let you stay, even if you started making music, we have discussed that. It is unusual, but seeing as you are a professor in Art History, it should not be a problem, as long as the quality of your work doesn’t get worse.”  
“It won’t, I promise.”  
“Right. But we can’t really stand scandals, Mr. Styles, as you should understand.”  
“Do you wish to fire me?”  
“Well, not yet,” he said and Harry felt his heart beating again. “But should the scandal not resolve itself in the nearest future, we’ll have to decide something. I can’t risk university’s reputation because of you.”  
“Of course.”  
“So please make sure it disappears as soon as possible. It is just rumours for now, and I have no idea how true they are,” the principal looked at him sternly. Harry tried not to blink.  
“They aren’t, I promise.”  
“Good. Then it shouldn’t be a problem to fix it all. Please keep me updated.”  
“Thank you, Mr. Beckerson.”  
“Good luck, Mr. Styles.”  
“Thank you. Have a nice day.”  
Harry left the room as quickly as he could without actually running, and didn’t stop until he reached the teachers’ room. He didn’t look anyone in the face as he got ready for his first lecture. Which proved to be a total disaster.  
“Is it true?” was the first question he heard as soon as he walked into the room.  
“What is true?” Harry said, looking at them with a poker face.   
“The news of you and Louis Tomlinson,” said Marietta from the second row.  
“I’m not here to discuss my personal life with you for one thing,” Harry said with much more bravado than he felt. He mostly felt angry, but he wouldn’t let himself take it out on the students. “And I have to say I’m sorry to learn my students read rag magazines. If anyone here wishes to ask any more questions about my personal life, you may as well leave now. If you wish to learn more about the rise of pop-art in the 20th century, you are welcome to stay,” he said and looked around the class. Nobody moved, nobody spoke. They seemed to not even be breathing, some looking stunned, some guilty, some still daring. “Good,” Harry said. “Let’s begin then, shall we?”  
The rest of the class went marginally alright, if he didn’t count Marietta’s gaze following his every movement, as if she was expecting him to snap up; come to think of it, she probably wanted it. Another scandal about the media famous Harry Styles.  
He didn’t see George the rest of the day, and he supposed it was for the better. He wanted them to be alright again, but if the man was willing to believe the rumours, Harry didn’t want to deal with it.  
He made it home without anyone lashing out on him, and he supposed it was a good sign. He didn’t know how to react to that, putting up calmness in front of his students seemed to take every ounce of his energy.   
He was heating up his left-over chilly from the weekend when his doorbell rang. Harry stopped at once, freezing on the spot, but feeling hot inside. The bell rang again, and he heard:  
“Harry, it’s Louis, please let me in.”  
Harry ran down the stairs and swung the doors open, not pausing to register how he felt. His belly was full of worms again, but his heart felt much warmer now.  
“Hi,” he said, taking Louis in. The man looked dishevelled, his messy hair hiding under his cap, his eyes heavy with sleep; he was wearing trackies and a hoodie underneath his opened jacket, but he didn’t look cool now; he looked like he grabbed the first thing he saw.  
“Can I come in?” Louis asked.  
“Oh, sorry. Please do,” Harry said as he stepped aside and Louis walked inside, closing the doors behind him. “Are you hungry?” Harry asked. Louis raised his eyebrows. “I was about to have lunch, if you want to join me,” Harry gestured to the kitchen uselessly, and Louis smiled for the first time. Small, but still there.  
“Sure.”  
“Excellent,” Harry said and smiled back, glad for a reason to. “I’ll go serve it, if you need the bathroom it’s right there,” Harry pointed at the doors and Louis nodded.  
Harry disappeared up into the kitchen and Louis joined him soon, without a jacket, and with mismatched socks on his feet.  
“By the way, I’m sorry I didn’t call you back yesterday,” was the first thing Louis said as Harry handed him a fork. Harry stared at him, feeling a bit surreal now that they were finally speaking. “I was writing, you know, and decided to take some time off. I do that thing when I just turn off everything and don’t check my phone or email. So I didn’t see you calling.”  
“Right. Thanks for coming, then,” Harry said, as he started on his chilly, not really feeling hungry anymore.  
“My manager managed to reach me a few hours ago, we’ve been trying to figure it out. Shit, Harry, do you have any idea who could have done it?”  
“You didn’t?” Harry said, unable to help himself. Louis paused with his first forkful halfway up to his mouth.  
“Harry!”  
“Sorry. You just didn’t want to talk to me all those weeks, so I thought I really offended you.”  
“What the hell makes you think I could do that? Me mom would skin me alive!”  
Harry snorted and felt the mood at the table lift. Louis, on the other hand, seemed to not share his feelings.  
“Lou, I’m sorry, I just didn’t know what to make of your silence, is all,” he said, his hands twitching to squeeze Louis’ shoulder, but he refrained himself.  
“I...” Louis trailed off. “I mean, I was angry at you for doing that shit, but I’m not that pathetic to give it to a paper, alright?”  
“Sorry,” Harry said again, and Louis bit his cheek.  
“I’m sorry, too,” he said. “We should have talked it out, I was shit, sorry.”  
“It’s okay. I’m glad we are talking now.”  
They fell into silence for a few seconds, Louis pushing his food around the plate with a fork.  
“You can eat it. It’s not poisoned, you know?” Harry said and Louis smiled. He took a forkful and his eyes literally rolled up in his head.  
“This is delicious,” he said, his eyes still closed. Harry smiled wider.  
“Now we are talking.”  
“Which reminds me,” Louis said, sitting up straighter. “The articles.”  
“Right,” Harry put his fork down and watched Louis take another bite. He chewed hastily and said:  
“Do you have a manager now?”  
“Yep. Michael and he told me to figure it out with you first. He said he’d call today, actually.”  
“Good. We should give an interview, you and I, where I will make a statement that it wasn’t anything serious, that we were just drunk and playing around.”  
“Okay,” Harry said slowly. It still didn’t change the fact that he was trying to kiss Louis, whilst he was supposed to be heartbroken, but it was better than the current events.  
“Are you free tomorrow?”  
“Tomorrow?”  
“We need to do it as soon as possible, trust me.”  
“Yeah, okay. My lectures end at one, and then I’m free.”  
“Alright. We’ll try to arrange the interview in the afternoon then’, Louis said and took a sip of water from his glass. Harry watched his adam’s apple and dropped his gaze when he realized he must have been staring. He looked at his plate when Louis said, “How are you coping with fame, by the way?”  
“Well, they told me they’ll fire me from uni if I don’t fix it,” he said, still looking at his plate. He felt uneasy.  
“Shit.”  
“But if the interview will help, I should be okay. If anything, it’s just more PR, right?” Harry said, raising his gaze to Louis.   
“But you don’t want to come off as a fuck-boy,” Louis said with a frown.  
“Of course not. But even if we make the statement, I still was close to you in public so my heart-broken persona is damaged,” Harry shrugged.  
“You don’t look bothered.”  
“I was quite sick of it, actually. I’m not really in love with her anymore, you know.”  
“You aren’t?” Louis said, raising his eyebrows. Harry smiled humorlessly.  
“I tried to kiss you, for fuck’s sake,” he said quietly, more to himself than to Louis. “Would I do that if I was still feeling shit?”  
Harry watched Louis’ cheeks flush slightly, Louis himself fidgeting uncomfortably.  
“Let’s not talk about it now, alright?”  
“Okay.”  
They fell silent again, Harry just watching Louis, while the latter ate.  
“How did you know where I lived, by the way?” he asked, realising he never told him his address.  
“I called Ann and asked,” Louis said as he shrugged.  
“Should I be bothered that you phone my mother?”  
At that Louis laughed, Harry smiling, too.  
“We shall see.”  
“Sick performance on Friday, by the way.”  
“Oh, thanks. Zayn did good.”  
“So did you,” Harry said without missing a beat and took a guilty pleasure in the way Louis’ cheeks reddened slightly.  
“Stop it, Harold, you’ll make me blush.”  
Harry chuckled.  
“You were good, too. Well, you won, so.”  
“It wasn’t true, though.”  
“The song wasn’t about the girl either?”  
Harry shook his head.  
“One of these days you’ll tell me how you write the love songs, young man,” said Louis and pushed his empty plate aside. “Thanks, by the way.”  
“Any time,” Harry said and picked up the plates.  
“Well, I’ll be off, then. I’ll text you once we figure out the interview thingy,” Louis said as he stood up. Harry followed him down the stairs.  
“Thanks for doing this,” Harry said as he watched him put his jacket on.  
“Mom would skin me, remember? And I can’t let the man that had a crush on me down, can I?”  
“Piss off,” Harry said and smiled, completely ruining the expression.  
“See you tomorrow, Harold. Sleep well,” Louis said as he opened the doors.  
“See you.”   
* * *  
The four o’clock of the next day found Louis and Harry side by side in a small office. They sat behind the desk, facing Brenda, the journalist who was supposed to interview them about the non-kiss. She had short spiky gray hair and rectangular spectacles and strongly reminded Harry of his school teachers.  
“So what was that kiss about?”  
“Oh, it was not a kiss. Harry just pecked me on the cheek, that’s all,” Louis said with a warm smile, looking straight into her eyes, while Harry was looking into his lap.  
“Just a peck, then? Is that a normal thing for you two?” Brenda asked, taking off her specs and squinting at Harry. He raised his gaze, trying to school his features into something calm.  
“Well, we grew up side by side, out mums are best pals.”  
“How does it explain the pecking, then?”  
“What Harry wants to say,” Louis said, glancing at him, “is that we are used to each other’s presence, you know. Growing up, we had no problem hugging, but it was never more than platonic.”  
That, strictly speaking, was not true. They never hugged for reals, the only touches Harry remembered were when Louis would pat him on the shoulder or drag him somewhere by his forearm. But that was enough to send sparkles through Harry, so he couldn’t complain.  
“And I am pretty tactile with my other mates, so, you know, never thought that would get so much attention,” Louis said and shrugged, but Harry saw his fingers curl under the desk. He was grateful Brenda couldn’t see. Tactile is the word now, isn’t it. Not romantic. Tactile.  
“Were you sober?” she asked, still x-raying them.  
“I don’t see how that helps the matter, to be honest, but yeah, we had a few drinks.”  
“It was my birthday, and the night of the semifinals, so we decided to go out.”  
“Just the two of you?”  
“Well, we haven’t seen each other for over a decade, we wanted to catch up,” Louis said and Harry nodded.  
“Alright, then. You were drunk, hence a bit lose and were playing around and joking, when somebody misinterpreted your actions, is that what you are saying?” she said and put her specs back on.  
“Exactly.”  
“Okay, then, I’ll see what I can do with that. If your managers approve, the news will be up tonight.”  
“Excellent, thank you,” Louis said and got up, shaking her hand. “Have a nice day.”  
“Yeah, you two be careful. Don’t peck each other just yet,” she said with a straight face and Harry felt relaxed for the first time that day. He smiled.  
“We won’t,” he said as he opened the doors. “Goodbye.”  
When the doors closed, Harry let out a sigh of relief.  
“Alright?” Louis asked, squeezing his shoulder.  
“Yeah. I’ve just never really done interviews before,” Harry said.  
“Well, get used to it, pup. If you want to be proper famous and all,” Louis said and started down the corridor towards the doors.  
“When will this thing be out?”  
“Tonight,” Louis said as he held the doors open for Harry.  
“Wow. So soon?”  
“I know my ways,” Louis winked. “Want me to drive you home?” he asked, as they stopped in the car park.  
“No, thanks. I think I’d better walk, I want to get some fresh air.”  
“Alright then. See you,” Louis said and smiled. Harry nodded.  
“Yeah. And really, thank you for doing it all.”  
“Well, does me some good, too, you know. Don’t like my personal life to be out and all that.”  
“How do you do that though?” Harry asked, as Louis opened the doors to his car. “Stay undetected, I mean?”  
“Well, I’m not that famous, remember? You didn’t know about me being a songwriter, did you?”  
“You reckon I’ll have a chance of secrecy if I ever get to a bigger stage?” Harry asked, raising his eyebrows. Louis closed the doors again and stepped closer, patting him on the shoulder.  
“Don’t worry about that now, alright? You need to get your career sorted and become known first, and then you’ll think on that. Alright?”  
Harry looked at him, his honest blue eyes, his little smile. Louis looked reassuring.  
“Thanks. And I’m sorry for that kiss. I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, I don’t know what it was. I’m sorry. I like your company, I don’t want to lose it,” he said, fighting to not drop his gaze. But he stared on, and Louis stared back.  
“No offence taken.”  
“For reals now?”  
Louis snorted and dropped his hand, hiding his smile behind it instead.  
“Can’t really well be pissed on little Harry, can I?”  
“I’m bigger than you though,” Harry said and bit his lip, fighting a smile now. Louis rolled his eyes but Harry saw his cheeks redden a bit.  
“I’m massive, Harold,” Louis said with a laugh and raised both his arms.  
“We will see about that,” Harry said through a grin and started walking backwards. “See you?”  
“Take care, little Harry!”  
“Piss off,” Harry giggled and turned around, leaving Louis behind.  
He heard him leave as he turned the corner. It was another gray day, the snow beneath his feet mixing up with mud, as if it couldn’t decide which form to take. Harry turned another corner, now seeing his building in the distance, when he heard:  
“Hey, superstar!”  
Harry ignored the call — he wasn’t a superstar, after all — and gripped the strap of his backpack tighter.  
“Can’t you hold it in your pants, Styles?”  
Harry grit his teeth and walked on faster. He waited for another call, but none came. He turned another corner, just to make sure he wasn’t followed — he didn’t want people to know where he lived — and reached his flat after another twenty minutes of wandering around. He felt like the interview couldn’t come any sooner.


	7. 7

On Friday Harry woke up to a few missed calls from Michael and an email from him. Feeling wide awake and queasy he opened the article he was sent. It contained a video. Harry had half the mind to throw his phone away and hide under the blankets, but he held his breath and clicked play.  
It was, as he expected, a video of him and Louis on the pub’s porch. It was dark and not of the best quality, but he could definitely see Louis’ back and Harry looking down at him, then resting his hand on Louis’ shoulder, and then the attempts at a kiss. Louis’ ‘no’ cut through the darkness, and then there was Harry pecking him again. Only that it didn’t look like a peck from this angle, it looked like a proper kiss. Shit.  
Harry closed the video and skimmed the article, which was largely the same as the previous one. He turned off his phone and curled up under the covers. Fear crawled through his veins making him shiver, hot hatred boiled in his stomach. Harry hated himself for that night, hated whatever person took the video and was getting it out now. Why not approach Harry and ask for money? Why would someone hate him so much? He wasn’t mean to anyone now, was he?  
He arrived at uni just in time for his first lecture, ready to face his students’ being nosy again. But he didn’t really get the chance to.  
“Mr. Styles?” asked the principal when Harry’s hand was almost on the door handle.  
“Mr. Beckerson?” Harry said, feeling cold again. He turned towards the man.  
“We need to talk. Now,” he said, his gaze hard.  
“You want to fire me, sir?”  
“Unless you can provide a decent explanation for that video?”  
“I don’t think I can,” Harry said, looking around the corridor at the people who were eyeing the pair of them suspiciously. “I don’t have to lecture today, do I?” Harry said in an empty voice.  
“Harry,” said the principal, his gaze softer now. “Mr. Styles, I’m sorry about that. You are a wonderful professor, but I can’t do that to the university,” he said and he did look apologetic, Harry had to give him that much.  
“I understand, sir. Am I to leave now?” Harry asked. Fuck it all.  
“We have to do the paperwork first,” he said, gesturing to his room.  
“Right.”  
Half an hour later Harry left the building behind and didn’t look back as he walked towards the bus stop. He felt hollow and bitter inside, like some sort of poison had eaten him out. He was yet to turn his phone on, no doubt to a bunch of calls from Michael and his family, but he didn’t want to deal with it all now. He just wanted to forget.  
He went straight to his fridge once he got home and grabbed a can of bear. He drank half of it by the time he plopped down on his bed and turned on the TV.  
It was approaching the evening when someone banged on his door. Harry opened it, struggling to bring the objects into focus. It wasn’t even nicht yet, and he was already drunk. Brilliant.  
“Harry, what the hell, will you pick u-”  
Louis paused and blinked at him; Harry leant against the doorframe.  
“Are you drunk?” he said, frowning, as he came in and closed the doors. Harry stayed by the doorframe, needing something to lean against.  
“Yes.”  
“Are you fucking insane? Your mom was almost on a train to London!”  
“Was she?” Harry asked, raising his eyebrows, his gaze bored.  
“Harry, you could at least pick up the bloody phone!” Louis said flailing his arms around and pacing Harry’s hall.   
“I didn’t want to,” Harry said with a shrug.  
“It’s not all about you, alright? And we need to sort out this video shite and you just go off the radars! You don’t do such things, alright?”  
“Why are you so angry?” Harry said, frowning at the red-faced Louis.  
“We all worried about you!” Louis exclaimed with the air of a man explaining the obvious.  
“Why? Coz I can’t keep it in my pants?” Harry said, gaze hard.   
Louis froze.  
“What are you talking about?” he said quieter, frowning. He looked much smaller now.  
“Well, that’s what people shout after me now, did you know that?”  
“Who cares about them? Harry, you have your family, they were worried sick about you, and you are just off your face.”  
Harry just shrugged, still leaning against the doorframe, as Louis resumed his pacing.  
“Why are you like this?” Louis asked.  
“I’m fired, Lou. I practically don’t have a job just because some dickhead decided to upload that video.”  
“So now you feel like you need to get wasted because of that?” Louis said, pausing in his pacing again.  
“Why not?”  
“Why not? Are you being serious?” Louis said, stepping closer.  
“I think I am,” Harry said, looking down at him. He could hear Louis’ laboured breaths now. The man was indeed angry.  
“But this is ridiculous!”  
Harry watched him resume his pacing again, the movement making him feel dizzy. He closed his eyes.  
“Harry, we need you sober, so we can decide what to do with the thing, alright? Can you do it tomorrow?”  
“I think so?”  
“Come on, pup. Get yourself together, no need to be miserable about it, alright?”  
“Easy for you to say.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Well, you are famous, and you’ve got money. You don’t really need to worry about all this, do you? It’s me who is now unable to even pay the rent now.”  
“Are you blaming me for that?”  
Harry shrugged, his eyes still shut. He felt Louis come closer.  
“You know what, Harry? Fuck you,” he said through his teeth, and before Harry could so much as open his eyes, Louis was gone, the door slamming shut behind him.  
* * *  
Harry woke up to the hammers in his head again. He listened intently to spot any foreign sounds in the flat, but it was completely quiet. He stared at the ceiling, trying to come up with a plan to fix what he did the day before. He probably owed his mum a call first and foremost. So he felt the bed for his phone and pressed the call button by mum’s picture.  
“Harry, dear, thank God! Are you alright? I was so worried, I-”  
“Yeah, mum,” he said and coughed out the raspiness. He tried again: “I’m sorry for yesterday. I just felt shit. Really, really sorry.”  
“Are you okay now, baby?”  
“I think so. I’ll have to figure something out about the video today.”  
“Is it serious?”  
“I dunno,” he said and sat up straight, the room swimming in front of him. He gripped the covers to steady himself. When he felt like he wouldn’t puke any time soon, he opened his mouth again. “I sort off didn’t talk to anyone yesterday, so I’ll have to call Michael today.”  
“Did you feel so bad about the video?” she said, sounding worried. He could picture her big glassy eyes.  
“I got fired, mum. I don’t have a job now.”  
“Oh, love,” she said and sounded just like he felt. Lost.  
“Yeah, but, erm… I’ll figure something out. Maybe if we sort out that video thing they’d take me back.”  
“Well, good luck, baby. Call me if you need anything, alright?”  
Harry smiled.  
“Thanks, mum. Love you.”  
“Love you too. Take care.”  
They hung up and Harry threw his phone back on the bed. One thing — ticked; now he needed shower and painkillers.  
After he entered the room again, now feeling better with his hair squeaky clean and a glass of water in his hand, he picked up the phone again. Michael sounded angry.  
“You do that one more time Harry, and I-”  
“I’m sorry.”  
Silence.  
“Do you think we could do something about that?” Harry asked. Michael sighed, sounding tired.  
“I’ve been thinking about it. I think another interview won’t work as well. I think we need you two to make a video where you’d explain how you are friends and all, alright?”  
“Will it help?”  
“I don’t think we should really fuss about it, ‘cause then it will show that it is something serious.”  
“Alright,” Harry said and sipped at his water, feeling tense. “Something else?”  
“Yeah,” Michael said with another sigh. “I think we’d better lie low for a bit. You can take the time to write music, get ready for recording, but I don’t think it’d be a great idea to start making music now.”  
Harry lowered his glass.  
“How long?”  
“A few months at least. But again, it’s no big deal, really. We just need to give it time to die down, you know. Let people forget about you for a bit, and then you’ll come back with good music, and they won’t really care.”  
“Won’t they?”  
“If we wait long enough.”  
“Right.”  
There was silence again, and then Harry remembered something.  
“Oh, by the way, I’m fired now. So I won’t really have money to pay you till I get the record.”  
“Well, I’ll get money from you only from the record. That’s on the contract, remember?”  
“Oh, so I don’t need to pay you monthly?”  
Michael laughed.  
“Have you read the contract, son?”  
“Yes, but-” Harry trailed off, trying to erase the fog from his mind so he could think straight. “Alright then, I’ll try and contact Louis and we’ll do the video, yeah?”  
“Yeah. I’ll send you what you need to cover. His manager and I talked it over.”  
“Thanks. See you.”  
“Good luck, son.”  
Harry didn’t give himself time to think before he called Louis. It turned out he needn’t worry — he got to the voicemail.  
“Shit,” he muttered and threw his phone on the bed.  
He dried his hair and got dressed, before leaving the flat and heading straight to Louis’. He kept checking his phone on his way, but Louis didn’t call back. He entered his building almost at a run, but as he approached the door, he stopped dead in his tracks and strained his ears.  
“So you like the fucker then?” someone was shouting. Was it Zayn? The voices were muffled by the closed door, but they must be in the hallway, arguing.  
“What are you on about? He is just new to it all, and I know him since wee years! I just want to help the lad!”  
“But he was assaulting you, Lou!”   
It was definitely Zayn and he sounded angry. Harry had trouble coming up with how an angry Zayn may look like though.  
“Yeah, we saw the video,” said another voice. Niall. “The bloke does you more harm than good, Tommo. Just leave him.”  
“I’d look at you if your best mate got into trouble,” Louis said, quieter than all of them.  
“My best mates don’t kiss me,” said Niall.  
There was a pause and Harry swallowed.  
“How many fucking times do I have to repeat that we weren’t kissing?” Louis gritted, sounding exasperated. Harry could bet he was balling his hands into fists.  
“Doesn’t look like it, though,” said Zayn, sounding smug.  
“And you are the one to talk,” said Louis and Harry frowned.   
“I’m leaving,” said Zayn and before Harry could blink the doors flew open and Zayn stepped out. He stopped dead when he saw Harry, glaring at him with such venom that Harry wished he wasn’t there. He was staring at them all with eyes open wide and his mouth not closed. Louis mirrored his expression, while Niall looked just as angry. Liam was trying to calm him down, but Niall just shrugged his shoulder throwing his hand off. Zayn unfroze and ran down the stairs without another word. Niall followed him, muttering ‘wanker’, under his breath. Harry was pretty sure it was about him. Liam followed, not looking at Harry. Louis stared at Harry, and they didn’t speak till they heard the doors close a few floors below.  
“Erm, hi,” Harry said and took a step closer. “Did you fight because of me?”  
“You heard it?” asked Louis. He sounded tired more than anything else. Harry looked at him closer, noticing the messy hair, the red cheeks and his soft looking trackies and jumper. “Come in, pup. Tea?” Louis said and nodded for him to come in. He walked off to somewhere, not even waiting for the door to close.   
Harry took off his shoes and coat, looking around. He was standing in a hall with high ceilings and off-white walls. Just like in the studio from that video-interview, Louis had framed posters hanging here and there and a round mirror next to the hanger. Harry walked down the hall to where Louis had disappeared, which turned out to be a small kitchen.  
“Tea?” Louis asked again and Harry nodded. He watched him fumble with the cups for a while.  
“I’m sorry for yesterday. I was a dick.”  
“Yeah, you were,” Louis said, looking at the brewing tea.  
“Will you forgive me?”  
“I suppose I’ll have to,” Louis glanced at him with a trace of a smile. “Did you call Ann?” he asked then, looking back down.  
“Yeah, just this morning.”  
“Good. Don’t think I’d stand another call from me mom to go and beat some sense into you,” Louis said as he took the milk from the fridge. He sounded amused, his tone light, and Harry allowed himself a smile.  
“Well, you almost did. Thanks for coming yesterday.”  
“Any time, pup,” Louis handed him the cup and led the way into another room. This one had two enormous windows on one wall and the couch by the opposite one. The rest of the room had a table against the window, a TV set in the corner and a bookshelf to the right. They sat down on the sofa and Louis turned the volume on the TV up.  
“So I talked to Michael about that thing,” Harry started, watching Louis. He took a sip and looked back at Harry.   
“They want us to make a video, yeah?”  
“Yeah, Michael said he’ll send me what we need to talk about. And he wants you to upload it to your page, ‘cause you have more followers.”  
“Yeah. Just let me have my cuppa first, alright? Can’t really think well now.”  
“Sorry.”  
“It’s alright.”  
They fell into silence — Louis watching TV, Harry watching Louis. He noticed dark shadows on his face, his wrinkles today pronounced more than Harry remembered, his delicate fingers gripping the cup so hard his fingertips lost all colour.  
“Lou?” Harry asked tentatively. Louis looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “Was this thing I overheard- is it serious? Can I do something to help?” he said and watched Louis’ expression soften.  
“I don’t think so, pup. We are just all very stubborn, we always have fights like that,” he said, putting down his mug. Harry ignored the warmth that spread through him at being addressed in such a soft voice.  
“So you’ll be okay?”  
“I think so, yeah. It’s just they can’t really see how that kiss was alright, you know?” Louis said, looking at his lap, voice quiet. Harry put his mug down as well, itching to touch and comfort Louis. He squeezed his shoulder gently, not certain if he was allowed anything else. Louis looked up at him.  
“I’m really, really sorry. Every morning I wake up now and wish I could contain myself then. Please forgive me?” he said and squeezed his shoulder again. Louis smiled feebly.  
“It’s alright, pup, really. Don’t worry, I’m not angry at you, and I’m not blaming you.”  
“But you were at first?” Harry said as he dropped his hand, not having anymore excuses to keep it there. Louis’ smile became more pronounced.  
“Well, I was. You are great at pissing me off, you know.”  
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Harry said and smiled back. Louis smirked.  
“Alright then, you hang out here, I’ll go make myself look presentable and we’ll make the video and be done with that, yeah?”  
“Right,” said Harry and watched Louis stand up.  
“Are you hungry, by the way?” Louis asked, stopping in the doorway.  
“Oh,” Harry paused and his stomach gave a rumble, as if it’d been waiting for a signal. Louis smirked again.  
“Take anything you can find, then,” he said and disappeared into the corridor.   
Harry picked up their empty mugs and went into the kitchen, as he heard Louis closing the door to his bedroom. He found a pack of eggs in the fridge, among endless beer bottles and leftover takeaways. By the time Louis found him in the kitchen, Harry had two plates of omelette ready.  
“Do you eat in the living room?” he asked as Louis sniffled the air appreciatively. His hair was combed and he was wearing a better t-shirt now, but his old trackies were still on. Harry thought he looked huggable, but he tucked the thought away.  
“Yep, come on.”  
They made their way back and plopped down on the sofa again.  
“Who taught you cooking, eh?” Louis asked through a mouthful, looking much better now. Harry tore his gaze away from the happy face.  
“My mum?”  
“And you never cooked for me back home? What a waste.”  
“Well, you weren’t really around much, were you?”  
“Are you blaming me for having a social life, Harold?” Louis said and raised his eyebrows, looking amused.  
“I didn’t say that. And anyway, I didn’t cook at fourteen, so,” he said and shrugged, pushing his food around with the fork.  
“It could have all played out differently,” Louis said and winked at him when Harry looked up. Harry stared at him.  
“Are you serious?”  
Louis shrugged at that and made a show of turning the volume up again, looking at the screen. Harry swallowed, looking at his calm face. He blinked away when he realized he was staring and went back to his omelette. His phone buzzed.  
Louis looked towards him and raised his eyebrows, asking a silent question. Harry glanced at the text.  
“It’s Michael, he sent the list of what we need to talk about. It’s-” Harry paused, scrolling down. “Yeah, it’s the same as the last one we did. That we are friends, and that it was all platonic, and that it will be the last thing we do about it, because it’s no biggie and doesn’t deserve that much attention.”  
“Right. Shall we start then?”  
And so they did. It took them a few takes to get it right, both stumbling and getting awkward on the first one, forgetting to mention everything, or not catching the phone in time for it not to fall. Finally Harry wrote down what they needed to say on a sheet of paper and propped it against the books on the table. They cut and uploaded the video to Louis’ instagram and watched the numbers go up within seconds.  
“What the hell,” Harry muttered. “People are insane,” he said as he watched the numbers reach a hundred within a minute. “We are not even that famous, I’m practically no one.”  
“Well you’ve got talent and a pretty face, people will die to get info on your personal life,” Louis said with a shrug and Harry tried to control his breathing after the word ‘pretty’.  
“Is it all it takes? Just be pretty and talented?”  
“Pretty much, yeah. And a good manager,” Louis said and clapped him on the knee where it rested close to his body. Harry swallowed.  
“Right. Well, I guess I won’t bother you anymore, I’ll go then,” he said and made to get up.  
“Already?” Louis said and watched him stand up.  
“Yeah, I have to go search for a job now, Michael said I’d better lie low for a few months, so I have to find something to get me money. Though I imagine it won’t be easy now.”  
“Oh, shit. If you need any help, just call me, yeah?” Louis asked and got up as well, following Harry to the entrance.  
“Thanks. You’ve already done way too much for me though. And I’m sorry that you had to argue with the boys about it,” he said, remembering what happened just an hour ago right where they stood.  
“We’ll be fine, don’t worry,” Louis said, watching him dress. “Good luck, then. Don’t hesitate to call should you need anything, okay?”  
“Thank you,” Harry smiled, hoping to put enough in the smile to make Louis realize how sorry he was for all the shit he brought into his life.  
“Come ‘ere, pup,” he said and spread his arms wide. Harry stepped closer at once, squeezing Louis to his chest. Louis was standing on his tippy toes, patting him on the back. “You’ll be alright, you hear me?”  
“Yep,” Harry said, closing his eyes and getting lost in the smell of his shampoo. “Thank you.”  
“Drop it,” Louis said as he let go. “See you, Harry,” he smiled at him.  
“See you, Lou,” Harry said as he left.  
The first thing Harry did upon arriving home was check the response to their post. Michael had phoned him on the way home, saying they did well, and wishing him good luck. Harry honestly lost count of how many ‘good lucks’ he heard lately and wondered if that should be a tell-tale sign of something.  
So he fixed himself a cup of tea and sat down at the kitchen table, pulling the comments on the post open.  
“are they together then?”  
“how stupid do they think people are to believe the platonic bs?”  
“they look cute tho”  
“they LITERALLY kissed on the vid okay, no denying that. i don’t see why that would be a problem though. they are free to kiss whoever”  
Harry stopped at that one. Really, why the fuck did people care if they did kiss? What if he liked Louis? Is there a certain amount of time that should pass after his break up for him to be able to date someone?  
An image of him and Louis holding hands out in the streets crossed his mind and Harry stared into the empty room. He felt warm at the thought, felt excited. But he won’t think about that. Now was definitely not the time to fall for Louis again. Been there, done that. It didn’t work the first time, it wouldn’t work now.   
But he called Harry pretty today, didn’t he?  
Harry gripped his phone tighter and concentrated on the comments once again. They would look cute together? Would they? They could become a thing, really, in the music industry. Harry could sing Louis’ songs or they could write together…  
Harry turned the screen off and got up, his cup forgotten. He needed to busy himself with something, or else he’d go mad. Louis had enough trouble from Harry as it was, and Harry really needed to find a job to pay the bills, or he’d die out on the streets, because his rent payment would run out in two months.  
He pulled out his laptop once he got up into the study, but somebody knocked on his door. Swearing under his breath, Harry ran back down the stairs. He opened the doors to find George, of all people, standing there with a bloody cake in his hands.  
“Paddington?” Harry asked, completely off guard. George smiled feebly, looking very uncomfortable.  
“Hi, Mr. Styles. I came to apologize,” he said, looking like it was a struggle to maintain eye-contact. But he did, and his words got to Harry after a second. He felt something inside him click into place.  
“Right,” Harry said and thought it must be only polite to let him in, already knowing he had forgiven the man. He came with a bloody cake, for fuck’s sake. “Come on in, then,” he said and gave him a small smile. George smiled wider, stepping in, his red hair curling from underneath his soaking wet beanie. “Is it raining?” Harry asked, watching him toe off his shoes.  
“Yeah, cats and dogs, really. Could you hold it? It’s for you, by the way,” he said, handing him the cake. It wasn’t packed properly, only folded into paper and a plastic bag.  
“Did you bake it?” Harry asked, smiling again. George snorted and Harry felt warm.  
“Nah, I’m a shit baker, Mr. Styles, wouldn’t want to poison you. Me mom made it. She is a fan of yours, I guess,” he said and shrugged, finally without his coat.  
“Right. Tell her this is very nice of her,” Harry said, nodding up into the kitchen. “Come on then, let’s have some tea.”  
“I heard the fuckers fired you?” George asked as they ascended the stairs and Harry snorted.  
“Language, young man.”  
“Sorry. And sorry about being a dickhead to you, by the way.”  
“I forgive you,” Harry said and smiled wider at George’s words. The boy had a certain lilt whenever he spoke, Harry supposed it was one of the reasons he enjoyed talking to him out of all the students. Had to be a pretty stupid reason, but Harry wasn’t there to be cool. Harry put the kettle back on and handed George a knife. “Cut it, will you?”  
“Sure. So how is life?”  
“Well, I have to find a job now,” Harry said, pulling out a tea bag and throwing it into a new cup. He poured his old lukewarm tea from before into the sink and threw another bag in there.   
“Can’t you sell a few songs?”  
“They said it’s better for me to not be active for now. And I don’t think anybody would want to buy my stuff now, anyway.”  
“Why not?” George said and frowned at him.  
“Not the cleanest reputation?” Harry said, handing him two plates.  
“But if you sell the lyrics, it will take a shit ton of time to produce a song with it, and by the time it goes life your shite will be forgotten. No?”  
“Actually,” Harry said, pausing with the kettle in his hands. Such a simple solution. “That’s actually a bit brilliant, Paddington,” he said, frowning at the man. George smirked smugly.  
“Clever,” he said and tapped his temple with his pointing finger.  
Harry snorted and finished making the tea, while George plated the cake.  
“By the way,” Harry said as they sat down. “Did anyone talk about me at uni?”  
“Professors didn’t, not to us, at least. We just heard the hearsay from the class you got substitute for on Friday. They asked the substitute and she said you are fired.”  
“Right,” Harry said.  
“Are you sad about it, Mr. Styles?”  
“Well, yeah. I liked my job, was hoping to keep it, actually.”  
“I think you’ll be able to get it back. You are the best prof I had, remember? They can’t do better than you.”  
“I don’t think my teaching skills can beat the media’s gossip.”  
“But you denied it, right? And your friend did it too. It should be enough for people, and if it’s not, fuck ‘em. Let them mind their own shit,” George said, leaning back in his chair. Harry looked at him, feeling healed somehow. He realized now George was probably his only friend, even though they weren’t friends. He missed him.  
“Thanks, Paddington. I’m really glad it was enough for you.”  
“I’m really sorry I didn’t believe you at first. It’s just such a serious thing they said you did, I couldn’t really, you know...”  
“Yeah, I know, no worries. It’s not your fault really. We are good,” Harry said kindly and finally tried the cake. It melted in his mouth into a sweet apple heaven. “And tell your mum this is absolutely delicious,” he added, as George smiled, looking proud.  
“Will do.”  
After George left about an hour later, Harry called Michael and asked him about the songwriting.  
“Will that work?”  
“Yeah, Harry, I think it will. I thought about it after we talked, actually. There is no guarantee we’d be able to sell it soon, though. It’s not really a safe option if you need money now.”  
“It’s alright, I’ll be able to get by for a month or two. And if it doesn’t work out, then I’ll try to find a job, yeah? Maybe the articles will be forgotten and I’ll be able to go back even?”  
“Let’s hope so, but there is no guarantee. It’s a tricky business, just remember that, okay?”  
“Yeah. So I’ll check in with you when I have something solid, shall I?”  
“I’ll be waiting.”


	8. 8

A few weeks later, Harry was still jobless, living off his savings, but he had a song ready. It was called End of the Day. The snow in the streets had finally melted and Harry felt excited for his new life, which emerged from the ugly winter he had to go through. He hadn’t really seen anyone for three weeks at this point, but he had spent every waking minute either writing or listening to get inspiration. It was another sunny Friday morning when he woke up to a call from Michael.  
“Hullo?” he said, rubbing at his eyes and scrunching his face against the sunlight.  
“Harry, we sold it!” said Michael. Harry sat bolt upright and wide awake.  
“You kidding?”  
“No, son, we’ve got the deal! Well done!”  
“Bloody- I’m- Wow,” Harry blabbered, running his hand through his hair. “Thanks?”  
Michael laughed on the other end.  
“For what? I didn’t write the thing. It’s a sweet one, Harry, and nobody will even blink that you wrote it. Now we just have to wait for the deals to come to us, you’ll see.”  
“Please don’t say it like that,” Harry said, but he was grinning. “Don’t get my hopes up, or I’ll become a dick.”  
Michael laughed again.  
“Alright then. Just congratulations on your first ever deal!”  
“Thanks,” Harry said as he sank back into the bed, feeling light like a feather. He is finally getting proper famous. Yes, baby!  
“I’ll send you the details via email, and when the approximate date of the album the song’s on is.”  
“Yeah, thanks again. Who did we sell it to?”  
“Some starting artist? We didn’t sell it yet, we need your signature for the papers, as the author, but that’s the best we can do today. You are only a beginner and big artists won’t really buy your stuff, and those guys are the ones who gave the highest price out of all the artists we reached out to.”  
“Thanks,” Harry said again, still grinning madly. He was a selling artist now. “And congrats, you’ll finally get some money from me,” he added and Michael chuckled.  
“Yes, son, it was all not in vain. Well then, enjoy your new life and not being broke. Have a pint for me, will you?”  
“Sure,” Harry said and chuckled too. “See you, Michael.”  
He hung up and stared at the ceiling. He remembered what it took him to come up with words, with the tune, to record the demo in the tiny studio Michael was able to get him into. He enjoyed it, he really did. And if that was his life from now on — well then, fuck the scandals to the moon and back, because Harry would do anything to retain this new life.  
He grabbed his phone again and called his mum to tell her the news. She sounded just as Harry felt when she practically shrieked into the phone. Harry couldn’t get the smile off his face if he tried, really. After his mum he shoot a text to Gemma, knowing full well she would never pick up because she had a day job — like a loser, in Harry’s opinion — and lingered a bit, his thumb hanging above Louis’ icon. He decided to fix himself some tea first.   
And so a few minutes later he was standing in his kitchen, stark naked and still grinning, cup of tea in hand, and his phone by his ear.  
“Who the hell calls me so early?” was the first thing Louis said, his voice muffled. Harry imagined him in bed, face down against the pillow. He smiled, if possible, wider.  
“I’m happy to hear you too, Lou!” he said and took a sip, listening to Louis murmur something indistinguishable. Harry felt a huge balloon growing in his chest — he finally had a reason to talk to Louis in the last three weeks. He wouldn’t think why he missed him, not now.  
“Why the hell do you sound so excited at bloody nine in the fucking morning?” Louis said, painfully slow, probably fighting the desire to ask and to still be sleeping.  
“I got a song deal!” Harry squealed — to which he’d never admit — and heard Louis ruffle. When he spoke, he sounded awake.  
“You joking?”  
“No! Michael just called me! I only need to sign a paper and it’s done! My first song is already sold, Lou!”  
“That’s fucking massive! Well done, pup!”  
“Thanks!” he said an upteenth time that morning. “Do you want to go out tonight? To celebrate it?” Harry asked before he could stop himself.  
“Oh, shite. I’d love to, but I already have plans with the lads.”  
“Oh,” Harry said and his balloon let some of the air out. “So you made it up with them then?”  
“We reached an agreement, yeah,” Louis said slowly, tentatively. “What about tomorrow? Want to go out tomorrow?”  
“Sure, I’d love to!”  
“Awesome. Well then, well done again!”  
“Thanks, Lou. See you tomorrow?” Harry asked, biting his lip.  
“Sure, mate. Very proud of you.”  
Harry lowered his phone and gulped the remnants of his tea in one go. He felt electric when he got ready to meet the artist and finally sell the song.  
* * *  
Harry woke up the next morning to another headache and briefly thought that it was turning into some sort of a tradition now. He frowned, eyes closed, still lingering on the last remnants of sleep. Then he realized he was awoken by his doorbell ringing and then he heard someone groan disgruntledly beside him. He opened his eyes at once and raised up onto his elbow. A girl was lying in his bed, with dark hair, but somehow dressed. Harry stopped breathing, trying to take a glimpse of her face, as the bell rang again. Surely it wasn’t Olivia? He let out a sigh of relief when he saw a strange face, but that got replaced by panic in a second. Did he really bring a girl from club home yesterday and completely forgot the sex part? And why was he dressed too, then?  
The bell rang again and Harry got up, his body aching all over, his shirt open, but his skinnies still on. He probably looked horrible, and smelled that too, but whoever came to him on a Saturday morning shouldn’t expect anything more, really.  
He opened the doors to find Louis in his huge oversized jean jacket and his smile morphing into surprise.  
“You look like shit,” was the first thing he said as Harry scrunched his face against the gray light from the street.   
“Thanks,” he mumbled, trying not to speak in the direction of Louis, because if his breath smelled anything like his mouth tasted, he didn’t want to traumatize people with it.  
“Had a fun night then, eh?” Louis said, now grinning, still standing outside. Harry managed to open his eyes and took a moment to enjoy the sight of light getting lost in Louis Tomlinson’s hair. “Harold?” he asked, and Harry realized he must be staring.  
“Is that your name then?” said a female voice from behind and Harry’s eyes went so wide his eyeballs should probably fall out by this point.  
“Oh,” said Louis, his mouth a perfect ‘o’. Harry slowly turned to look at the girl, who was looking at him with her arms folded.  
“Erm, sorry. I don’t really remember last night?” he said as politely as he could, while feeling very filthy. Surely he wasn’t that drunk to not even remember?   
“Small wonder,” she said as she put her shoes on.  
“Sorry, did something happen? Did we... erm… did we have sex?” he said, steadily ignoring Louis.  
“I wish. You look good, pal, but you fell asleep as soon as you saw your bed yesterday.”  
“Oh,” Harry said, as she shrugged on her jacket now. Louis snorted, not even bothering to conceal it.  
“Sorry I crushed at yours, by the way. I was just knackered, so I thought I could stay the night. I did drag you all the way from the cab, you know. You are pretty heavy.”  
She smiled and Louis was now full on laughing.  
“Your fucking face, Curls,” he said in between the fits of laughter.  
“I’m sorry?” Harry said, looking at her, uncertain. “Want me to call you a cab?”  
“I’ll take the bus, love, don’t worry,” she patted him on the shoulder and Harry felt strangely patronised. Maybe he was.  
“Right,” he only said as the girl stepped around him and nodded at Louis.  
“Bye, folks. Nice to meet you, Harold.”  
“It’s Harry,” he said, but she was already off. Harry looked at Louis, who looked sick with laughter by this point. Harry schooled his face into indignation.  
“I hate you,” he said, watching Louis taking deep breaths to calm himself. He was still grinning at Harry.  
“Actually,” he said, raising a finger and finally managing to speak in a steady voice. “I came to ask you out for a cuppa. I need to discuss something with you.”  
“Right now?” Harry asked and hugged himself, finally feeling cold from the street air.  
“Yep. So go make yourself presentable and we’ll go to a cafe or something. Count it as my present for your music deal.”  
Harry sighed, feeling like he could do with another few hours in bed, but one glance at Louis told him he wouldn’t really want to skip a breakfast with him.  
“Come in then,” he said, letting Louis finally step inside.

Harry found Louis at the kitchen table ten minutes later. He had taken a shower and felt much better now that his mouth didn’t stink and his clothes were clean — he was back to his blue jeans and a mustard yellow sweater — but his head was still pounding with hammers. He took his painkillers before Louis could say anything and sighed with relief.  
“Shall we?” Louis said, lowering his newspaper. He looked cosy in this tiny kitchen, with Harry’s specs on and folding a newspaper. Harry looked away, not able to take in the sight that was Louis Tomlinson this early in the morning.  
“Let’s go,” he said instead and went down the stairs, Louis right behind him.  
“Do you have any good places around here?” Louis asked as they both put their shoes on.  
“Depends what you mean by good?” Harry said, opening the doors.  
“Where I can get a decent cup of tea.”  
“I think I know just the one, then.”

They entered a small place a few minutes later, just a few buildings away from Harry. They found a table by the window and ordered their tea. Harry didn’t feel like food just yet, and Louis didn’t seem keen on the idea of breakfast either.  
“So?” Harry said, taking a sip of his plain black and feeling better at once. He looked at Louis, who was holding his cup with two hands, his tattoos a stark contrast with the delicate fingers. “What did you want to talk about so early? I thought we were meeting tonight?”  
“Well, something happened.”  
“Care to elaborate?”  
Louis lowered his cup and heaved a deep sigh and Harry noticed that he looked tense all of a sudden. His shoulders weren’t relaxed, his fingers were grabbing the sleeves of his hoodie, and he kept biting his lip. He stared into the window for a moment. “What’s wrong?” Harry asked, lowering his cup, too.  
“Alright,” Louis said and looked at him, leaning closer. Harry could see the lines around his eyes much better now. “Remember Zayn, right?”  
“Yes?” Harry said, frowning.  
“And, like, he was the lead singer, right?”  
“What do you mean ‘was’?”  
“He left.”   
“He what?” Harry said, his eyes wide and his voice higher than usual.  
“Yesterday, we went out, remember?” Louis said and looked at him, Harry nodded. “We didn’t even have a single drink when he told us he was leaving the band for good. I mean, he did take times off every now and then, but he said it was getting too much for him by this point.”  
“Too much?” Harry asked, frowning deeper.  
“Well, we started playing a lot more gigs after we took the second place at the show, and we gained more attention, more people started showing up. And Zayn- He is just not good at dealing with all the attention, you know. He likes music, but he said he can’t carry on like that anymore. The first bigger show, he almost got a panic attack.”  
“Fuck,” Harry said, and Louis smiled joylessly.  
“Yeah. So now we don’t have a singer.”  
“You sure Zayn won’t come back?”  
Louis shook his head.  
“We ended the contract just this morning. You know, the one where we kept the shit like who gets how much money and stuff. He left yesterday right after he set the time for a meeting today.”  
“Shit, Lou, I’m so sorry,” Harry said and reached out his hand, but paused midway, grabbing the sugar box instead. Louis took his hand off the table.  
“It’s alright, it’s just him, I guess,” Louis said and shrugged. He looked into the window, while Harry watched him, silently. They spent a few minutes like that, before Louis sighed again and looked at him. Harry lost his breath for moment — Louis looked hurt.   
“We used to have a thing, you know, Zayn and I. Like fuckbuddies, or whatever,” he smiled his hollow smile again, and Harry felt shock freeze him as he tried to comprehend the words.  
“You dated?”  
“No, it wasn’t anything serious. We just got each other off a few times, and then pretended it never happened,” Louis said quietly and looked away again. Harry’s breath stopped again, he felt something dark unfold inside him, something childish and very, very possessive.  
“Did you like each other?” he asked, quietly, afraid if he spoke louder the dark feeling would sip into the words.  
Louis shrugged.  
“I dunno, pup,” he said, looking at him again, his hand playing with the cup as if on autopilot. “I don’t think I ever did, to be honest. We were just mates, and he got on with me the best out of all the lads, but I don’t think it was anything romantic. Not for me, at least.”  
“You reckon he liked you?”  
Louis heaved another sigh, looking like he held the weight of a thousand worlds on his shoulders.  
“I think?” he asked almost, looking at his cup now, frowning. “I mean, that thing, the getting off,” he raised his eyebrows as he said it, still talking to the cup and looking annoyed at himself. Harry balled his hands into fists in his lap. “It was, like, three times, and every time we were piss drunk, usually after we’d play a new song on a gig or something. It wasn’t, like, every time we got drunk.”  
“Right,” Harry said, his voice small. He had difficulty breathing.  
“So after the last time, like a year ago, I told him I wanted it to stop. It was the first time we even acknowledged it. And Zayn said that he thought so too. I mean, the idea was quite stupid in the first place, and I felt terrified if Niall or Liam found out.”  
“Do you think they know?” Harry asked and Louis glanced at him, looking just as exhausted.  
“No, I don’t think so,” he said, talking to the cup again. His finger was running in circles around its rim, Harry followed every movement. He felt sick. “But then, after we had that talk with Zayn, whenever I’d want to take someone home from a club or a pub he’d act out, you know? Like get very bitchy, or, like, insult the person.”  
“You think he was jealous?”  
“I dunno, he never said it to my face. So I kind of stopped inviting him along at some point, ‘cause that was getting ridiculous. And I was afraid the lads would start suspecting something. But then he himself started being more and more closed off.”  
“You think it’s your fault he left?” Harry said and felt something warm find its way into the darkness within. He reached out and touched Louis’ forearm gently. Louis looked up, surprised, as if he’d only realized Harry was there.  
“Yeah,” he said, looking into Harry’s eyes. His gaze softened and Harry wanted to hug him right there and then. Instead, he patted his forearm gently and extracted his hand. Louis still looked at him. “I just, you know, I feel guilty that I couldn’t like him back?”  
“But it’s not like you can make yourself like someone on demand, is it?”  
“No, but I still kept talking to him and hanging out with him even after I started noticing that he may be into me. I feel like it was selfish of me. Like I gave him an illusion I liked him back.”  
They fell into silence, Harry not really sure of what he could say.  
“Or maybe I enjoyed that he liked me,” Louis said quietly and shrugged, dropping his gaze again. Harry felt like he could breathe once more — he couldn’t act normally when Louis was staring at him with so much pain.  
“Hey, Lou,” he said when he found his voice again. He hid his hands under his thighs so as not to reach out again. Louis looked at him. “You said he left because he had some sort of a stage fright, yeah?”  
“Yeah, but still. I don’t think he would have left if we weren’t that weird before, or if I reciprocated.”  
“But that would have been torture for you. I don’t mean that you wouldn’t work as couple, maybe you would have,” Harry said, as the darkness inside him unfurled with a new force. “But being with someone you are not in love with, I mean, it wouldn’t be honest towards Zayn either, you know? Eventually the truth would have been out, and he would have been really, really hurt,” Harry said, realizing he was talking about himself and Olivia. He swallowed, telling himself the next words were necessary, no matter how much they hurt. “Listen, Olivia betrayed me like that. Maybe she liked me in the first place, but once she stopped, she didn’t tell me, and it ate her from the inside, right? And she started cheating, though she is a good person, and I’m sure she felt shit for it, but she couldn’t, like, stop. She wanted to love, and to enjoy herself, I guess,” Harry said and bit his lip. The wound hurt still, if not because of Olivia, but because of her betrayal.  
“Harry, love, I’m sorry,” Louis said softly and Harry glanced at him, seeing the glassy eyes and tensed lips.  
“No, it’s alright, I’m over it, it’s just that it’s a low blow, you know? Anyway. What I’m saying is that she hurt me and she hurt herself. Now she’ll feel guilty the rest of her life; I mean, I wasn’t exactly delicate about it either. I basically started building my career off of her betrayal.”  
“It’s her fault, not yours,” Louis said and reached out a warm hand to pat Harry on the shoulder.   
“I know, but I think I can understand her now. It doesn’t justify what she’s done, but I think I get it. And also,” he said and glanced at Louis, before looking down. “It’s going to sound embarrassing, but just bear with me. That time, when I said I liked you,” Harry said and felt a smile nudge his lips. He glanced at Louis to see him smiling, too. Their gazes lingered, and Harry felt warmer. “You were honest with me, you know? It was hard, I won’t lie,” he said and smirked. Louis chuckled quietly. “But at least you didn’t pretend you liked me back to make it better for me. Because, I mean, I am super cool, and you would probably have fallen for me, have you tried,” he said with another glance, seeing Louis relax even more now, leaning back and chuckling. “But the point is, even though it took me a lot of time to get over you, I did, eventually,” he said looking down, not feeling like he was really telling the truth. “I started dating other people — person — started enjoying myself, and I grew, you know? I’m not saying you’d hinder my growth, or anything.”  
“I get the point. And you look very sexy tall,” Louis said and smiled. Harry flushed.  
“Thanks. Erm… What was I?.. Right, the reciprocation. I think honesty is the best thing, because it ensures that whatever happens is the best for everyone, you know?”  
“I guess you are right.”  
“So I don’t think you should feel guilty about Zayn leaving, because now that he actually doesn’t have to see you every day, it will be easier for him to get over you and move on. And for you to take people home,” he said, looking up. Louis smiled at him.  
“Speaking from personal experience, eh?” he said and took a sip at his tea, which must be lukewarm by now.  
“Piss off,” Harry said and scrunched his nose, failing at fighting a smile.  
“Thanks for the pep-talk, pup. That was uplifting.”  
“Happy to be any help.”  
They looked at each other, Louis’ gaze soft. He didn’t look like the weight had magically lifted off his shoulders, but he did smile easier now. Harry counted it as a win.  
“Right. What I wanted to talk about, actually, is you in the band,” Louis said and Harry froze with his cup halfway to his mouth. He stared at Louis, not daring to move.  
“Me what?” he asked, voice high. Louis chuckled.  
“I talked to the lads, and they agree you are our best option. It was actually Niall who proposed the idea.”  
“Niall?” Harry asked, lowering his cup. The image of Niall’s scowl from their last encounter was still fresh in his mind.  
“Yep. They still haven’t forgiven you the ‘sexual assault’ of my precious persona,” Louis said, a smug smile on his face. Harry glared at him. “But you do sound great and your songwriting skills won’t be a burden either, you know. The lads wanted to go bigger for a long time, and now that we got an album deal, we really need a lead singer.”  
“So you are for reals,” Harry said, looking at him intently, expecting Louis to crack a smile and tell him he was only joking. Louis, however, did no such thing.  
“Absolutely. The first rehearsal is today, actually, we want to hear how you sound with our old stuff. And you are welcome to bring your own songs, if you want to. The ones you don’t plan to sell, of course.”  
“Thank you,” Harry said, finally letting a smile show on his face.  
“Welcome, pup.”  
* * *  
Harry looked to his right and Louis winked at him, grabbing the door handle. He held his breath as Louis swung the door to the studio open and prodded him in the back. Harry stepped forward, finally looking around. Liam and Niall stopped talking from where they were stood by the table and looked at him. He wished they’d continue talking.  
“Hi,” Harry said, stretching his arm forward for a handshake. Liam shook it at once.  
“Alright, Harry?” he said with a smile, and Harry felt the knot inside loosen a tiny bit. Liam stepped aside and Niall stepped up.  
“Hey, Harry,” he shook his hand, but didn’t smile. Harry bit his lip.  
“Alright, lads, let’s get to work,” Louis said loudly and clapped his hands to get their attention.   
They all turned towards him.  
“Harry. You go into the booth and- let’s see. What do you lot reckon he should sing?” Louis asked, rummaging through the sheets with lyrics.  
“Ready to Run?” Niall said, and Harry only frowned, not really knowing the song. Louis looked at Niall, something daring in his eyes.  
“Don’t be ridiculous, Nialler. Even Zayn had trouble pulling off that note in the end,” he said, looking at Niall. Liam pretended to be very busy with some other papers, as Niall and Louis glared at each other, Harry watching them apprehensively.  
“It’s okay, Lou,” Harry said quietly. “I could try. If it’s difficult it will be easy to see if I sound good with your music, right?”  
Louis looked at him, his gaze softening. Niall folded his arms and looked at his feet, looking uncomfortable.  
“Alright, then. Here, we’ll play you a demo. Liam?” Louis said.  
“One moment,” he said and plopped down into the chair, typing something off on the keyboard. A few seconds later the song started playing.  
Louis handed him the lyrics and Harry read them as they were sung. He focused on the song, not wanting to watch the others, especially Niall. When it ended, he looked up and saw all three of them looking back already.  
“So?” Louis said with a small smile.  
“Can I have another listen? In my headphones?” Harry said, returning the smile.   
“Sure,” Louis said as he handed him a set a professional looking headphones. Before he put them on, Harry smiled at them all.  
“That’s a really nice song, actually. I like it a lot.”  
“Took some time to write,” Louis said and smiled, Liam smiled behind his back. Niall watched him with a straight face, but Harry saw a hint of pride in his eyes.  
“Oh, can I also have a pen please?”  
As the song played the second time, now only for Harry, Niall and Liam started talking, doing something on their guitars, and Louis just watched Harry, though the latter didn’t raise his eyes to meet his gaze. He kept bopping his head to the beat, marking some places here and there; finally, he looked up and took one side of the headphones back.  
“I’m ready,” he said, and felt dread creeping into him at once.  
He watched Louis from inside the boot, the glass separating them, the other two still chatting on the black sofa. Harry nodded at Louis and he nodded back.   
Harry tried to emerge himself into the song, following the way Zayn sang it in the demo. It took a few times to get the lyrics right, and by the time he got through in one go, without stumbling over his words and flushing when Louis just nodded encouragingly and started all over, his throat was hurting. When he entered the studio again, he felt three stares on him.  
“Was it horrible?” was the first thing he asked, closing the doors to the booth behind him.  
Louis snorted at that.  
“You were alright, pup, don’t worry. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good.”  
“You joking?” he said, still uncertain.   
“Nah, mate, you were alright. Working under stress and all that,” said Niall, and everybody stared at him.  
“So you are done with your ‘Let’s hate Harry’ campaign?” Louis asked, eyebrows raised. Niall shrugged, a playful smile on his face.  
“I wanted to test the lad, you know. So it’s not all butter and honey for him.”  
“For goodness sake,” said Liam, shaking his head. “You were a right dick to the lad.”  
“It’s alright, isn’t it, Harry?” Niall said, stretching his hand for a shake once again.  
“Yeah,” Harry said, afraid to make him angry again. Relief was slowly swimming through his veins.   
“Feel free to hit him in the balls next time he acts out,” Louis said from behind, perched on his chair with his feet on the table. Niall instinctively stepped back and covered his crotch.  
Harry snorted, covering his mouth with his hand.


	9. 9

“Get it together, Nialler!” Louis said through a smile. Niall shook his head, still laughing. Liam nudged him in the shoulder and he started taking deep breaths to calm himself.  
“Alright?” Liam asked and Niall nodded. Harry bit down on his own smile. Niall took another deep breath and blowed it all out.  
“Let’s do it,” he said and they all looked into the camera of Harry’s phone, which he held in his hand so that everyone was in.  
“Ready, steady, go!” Harry said and pressed the recording button for the umpteenth time.  
“Hi!” Louis said and waved into the camera, stood right behind Harry. Harry felt a bit hot from standing so close, but they had to; he had to remind himself it was all professional.  
“We wanted to make an announcement,” said Niall from behind Louis.  
“Because we have new front man to the band, and wanted to let you know that we already started working on the album!” Liam said from the back of their line, and Harry bit his lip. If laughing his head off half the time was working on the album, he was all for it.  
“So, please, welcome Mr. Harry Styles!” Niall said, his hands around his mouth like a rupor.  
“Ta-daa!” Harry said and giggled, before pressing the stop button.  
“Do you reckon that will do?” said Liam as they all huddled together to watch.  
“I’m sick of doing it, so it will have to,” said Louis. “Must be what, thirteenth time?”  
“More like the third, really, but whatever,” Harry said. “So I’m uploading it?”  
“Yep,” Niall said and jumped onto his back, as Harry bent double.  
“Oi! What if I dropped my phone?” Harry said, uploading the video to the band’s instagram. He threw his phone onto the table and turned his head to look at Niall, still on his back.  
“I like a good piggyback,” Niall said and shrugged. He hugged Harry closer, resting his cheek on his hair, and Harry turned away, chuckling. He grabbed Niall’s thighs tighter.  
“Comfy?” he said.  
“You are the best,” Niall said and wiggled his bum. Harry grabbed him tighter.  
“Watch it,” he said and looked up. Louis was watching them with a frown, and Harry raised his eyebrows. “Alright, Lou?” he said as he felt guilty for whatever caused the frown on that beautiful face. Louis’ crease disappeared and he looked at the papers in his hands, while Liam was typing something away on his phone, half-lying on the sofa.  
“Yeah,” Louis said, looking through the papers.   
“Hey, Ni,” Harry said quietly and bent his knees. Niall slid down with a sigh.  
“So we are going out tonight, yeah?” Harry said, approaching Louis. He stopped a few steps away and Louis looked up.  
“Yep,” he said and looked down again. Harry bit his lip, but then his phone buzzed. He picked it up without looking at the icon.  
“Hello?”  
“Mr. Styles, good afternoon,” said the familiar voice and Harry felt adrenaline punch through him.  
“Mr. Beckerson?” he asked, voice high. The others looked at him.  
“Yes, hi again,” the principal said, and Harry thought he heard a smile. “So I see the scandal died down,” he said, straight to the point.   
“Been a few months, yeah,” Harry said, gripping the phone tighter.  
“So,” the principal said and paused, while Harry boiled up with excitement. “If you would like to go back, I think you can certainly do so. If that does not mess up your music, of course.”  
“Yes,” Harry said to all at once. He was grinning, and Niall and Liam involuntarily mirrored his excitement, while Louis was still frowning. “Yeah, I mean, I’ll be fine, I’ll manage. When can I start?”  
“What would you say about next week? And you wanted to lead a summer course, right?”  
“Thank you!” Harry all but screeched, and the principal chuckled.  
“You are very welcome. And I’m sorry it all had to be like that. I’m really sorry.”  
“It’s alright. Will I have my same classes back?”  
“Yep, three hours every morning, two lectures. Just like at the start of the semester.”  
“Excellent! Could you send me the syllabus and what they have covered already?”  
“Of course. Well, good bye, Mr. Styles. Looking forward to having you back.”  
“Thank you! Bye.”  
He lowered his phone and looked at the others with a huge grin on his face.  
“I’m back at uni! I have lectures again!” he said and it was a near miss for not jumping at the spot.  
“Yes!” Niall shouted with his hands in the air and hugged Harry tight.  
“Congrats, man!” Liam hugged him after.  
“Thanks,” Harry said as he let go and turned to Louis. His frown was still there, so foreign on his face, but he smiled through it. It was like the sun making its way through the thick branches.  
“Well done, Curls,” he said and hugged him too. Harry let go almost at once, afraid to stay for too long and raise suspicion in others and in himself.  
“Calls for a celebration!” Niall said and Louis rolled his eyes, looking more himself.  
“We are already going out tonight.”  
And out they went. They left the studio at around seven, taking a cub to the nearest pub. It was their first night out together and Harry was excited. He spent the last three weeks in the studio with the boys, trying out new songs, discussing writing with Louis and taking guitar classes from Niall and Liam, which were really just Niall telling him he was an idiot and laughing his head off half the time.  
They entered the place, which was still quiet for a weekend evening. Harry let Niall and Liam go ahead and put a hand on Louis forearm, holding him back by the door.  
“Lou, are you okay?” he said and bent down a tiny bit to have a better look into the blue eyes.  
“Yeah,” Louis said, avoiding his gaze. He was looking at Harry’s collar bones, peeking out of the black shirt.  
“You seem a bit off all day,” Harry said, straightening up because Louis stepped towards the bar. Harry followed him, but before they reached the others, Louis said quietly over his shoulder.  
“Don’t worry about me, pup. I’m alright, I promise.”  
“Alright,” Harry muttered and joined the rest of them at the bar.   
When they got their pints and took a place at a table, Niall raised his beer.  
“To Harry Styles, the new old history prof.”  
Harry snorted and they all drank, Liam and Louis smiling.  
They were having another round, chatting about music and life, when Harry asked:  
“By the way,” he said, lowering his glass and patting Niall who was sitting in his lap on the back. “Why do you have one frontman?”  
“You need more?” Niall said and raised his eyebrows. Harry smiled drunkenly at him.  
“I mean, why don’t you all sing?”  
Liam and Louis frowned at each other.  
“No, really? I heard you sing on that first song on the show, you were good, right?”  
“Where Do Broken Hearts Go?” Niall asked. Harry nodded. “Fucking love that song,” Niall said proudly, and Louis snorted.  
“I dunno,” Liam said from Harry’s right. “We used to sing when we did covers, right, Lou?”  
“Yep.”  
“So why not now?” Harry said.  
Louis shrugged, they all looking at him.  
“Boybands are not as common, I guess? And we are grown-ups, it’s more common to have a front man and the others joining in on chorus or some lines,” he took a gulp of his beer and leant back in his chair.  
“I thought we could try to all sing. If everyone had a verse or something, it could be interesting, no?” Harry said, looking at Louis who was sat right opposite him, his gaze on Harry’s hands in Niall’s lap. Harry noticed it and tried to pull back, but Niall slapped him back into place.  
“I don’t think it would work, really,” Louis said, looking up at Harry, something dark in his eyes now.  
“Don’t knock it till you try it,” Harry said, not looking at Louis. He didn’t feel comfortable with Niall so close any more.  
“Yeah, Tommo, we could try?” Liam said, nudging his shoulder. “If not on every song, at least on some. It could actually work. Nialler, what’d you think?”  
“Yeah, give it a shot. If it’s shit we can just drop it. And push the lad out for sabotaging the band.”  
“Hey!” Harry said and pouted at him. Niall burst out laughing, loud and drunk, and kissed him sloppily on the forehead.   
“Don’t worry, sweet cheeks,” he said as he patted him on the cheeks. “I can’t let you go, you know it.”  
“It’s all because I bring you cupcakes.”  
“And those tacos you made last week. Delicious.”  
Harry snorted and shoved Niall off his lap, his hands gentle. Niall dropped into his chair to Harry’s left.  
“So what if we try something out on Monday then?” Harry said, looking at them all. Liam and Niall nodded, Louis shrugged, looking at his beer.  
“We could,” he said. “But don’t have high hopes, pup. We never did it properly.”  
“Except for the covers?”  
“Not quite. It was mostly Nialler that did them, Liam joining in sometimes. It’s hard to cover Oasis with a voice like mine, you know?” he said and smiled, the left corner of his mouth lifting higher. Harry snapped his gaze back to his eyes.  
“I think you’d sound great, Lou,” he said, completely honest. Louis dropped his gaze again, but Harry thought his smile was more genuine and shy now.  
* * *  
Harry had a mild dejavu when he entered the university on Monday morning. Mainly because of George who jumped at him the moment he set his foot inside.  
“Welcome back, Mr. Styles!” he said, letting go. Harry chuckled, not able to resist a smile.  
“Missed me?”  
“You know I did,” George said as they started walking down the corridor. “You got all your old classes?”  
“Yep. How did they like the substitute?”  
“I mean, if they took you back for two weeks of classes left, that prof shouldn’t have been good, eh?”  
Harry smiled, feeling a bit guilty.  
“Maybe.”  
They reached the principal’s room and George said:  
“Alright, then, see you later, Mr. Styles. Good luck on your first day back!”  
“Oh, by the way, Paddington,” Harry said, his hand on the door handle. He lowered his voice, so that the principal wouldn’t hear them. “How about we go grab some coffee for lunch? After my lectures? You free?”  
“Yeah, alright, sounds excellent. See you!”

When Harry entered the classroom twenty minutes later, fully restored as a professor now, everyone’s head turned towards him.  
“Good morning!” he said, beaming at them. Marietta paused in her gum chewing, her jaw almost hanging open.  
“You back?” she said and Harry felt his heart beating faster, scared. Would they still treat him like shit after all these months? He grit his teeth and didn’t let his smile falter.  
“As you can see,” he said and she raised her eyebrows, but didn’t say a word.  
“Thank goodness!” said someone from the first raw and the murmur of agreement followed.  
“We missed you, prof,” said another voice.  
Harry felt warmth spreading through him. He was wanted here. He was home.

“So you are a frontman now, then?” George asked as they walked down the street towards the studio. The sun was licking at their faces, their pace slow, conversation easy.  
“Actually, I offered them to try something new the other day. Maybe we will all sing eventually.”  
“Sick!”  
Harry chuckled.  
“You are so excited for me, Paddington. Am I to be suspicious?”  
“Pff,” he said as he threw away his empty paper cup. “I’m just really happy for you. You went through so much shite this winter. Good to see you back to normal,” he looked down as he said it, clearly embarrassed.  
“Hey,” Harry said and nudged him lightly. George looked at him, his face slightly pink. “Thanks, Paddington. Good to have someone who cares, really,” Harry said and smiled.  
“Well, you were the only one who believed I could finish my degree. And look at me now, only two weeks left and I have my diploma.”  
“I’m sure others saw something in you too, young man,” Harry said as they stopped by the studio. He squinted into the sun, peeking out from behind the building.  
“Not really,” George said, shrugging. “I’ll miss you, Mr. Styles.”  
“Oh, come on,” Harry said as he spread his arms and stepped closer. George hugged him, and Harry patted him on the back. “We will see each other. You are staying in London, right?”  
“I hope so. But you owe me a ticket to one of your concerts, just so you know.”  
Harry snorted into his shoulder and felt George laugh, too.  
“Definitely, Paddington.”  
“Oi! You two!” said a familiar voice, which prompted Harry to let go of the embrace and feel a rush of adrenaline. They turned towards the door to see Louis watching them without a smile.  
“You are Louis Tomlinson!” George said as he grinned, stepping up and stretching his arm for a shake. It was a bit awkward, considering Louis was standing a few steps higher, still technically in the building.  
“And you are?” he said, shaking his hand and squinting at George’s face.  
“That’s Paddington, my student,” Harry said, trying to capture Louis’ attention. He felt another pang of feeling when the blue eyes met his again, and George stepped back with,  
“Nice to meet you, sir.”  
Louis looked back at the boy, chuckling now, his features softer.  
“I’m no sir, mate. Call me Louis. What’s your name again?”  
“George, Louis, sir. Sorry.”  
Louis snorted again as Harry joined him on the last step.  
“I really like you music, by the way. Can’t wait for the album,” George said, smiling shyly at them both.  
“Well, now that we’ve got your prof, the things may speed up. He’s got a knack for writing good tunes,” Louis said with a glance towards Harry. Harry dropped his gaze to his feet, muttering ‘thanks’. Louis nudged him in the shoulder and they looked back at George.  
“Well, I’ll be off, then. See you tomorrow, Mr. Styles?”   
“Yeah, bye, Paddington.”  
They watched George leave, standing side by side under the warm April sun.  
“Do you think the lad has a crush on you, Styles?” Louis said, still looking at George’s retrieving figure. Harry stared at him.  
“What? Why?”  
“Well, you were practically glued to each other a minute ago,” Louis said, still not looking at Harry, whilst Harry couldn’t stop looking at his profile.  
“He is my student. We are just friends with him, that’s it!”  
“You sure?” Louis glanced at him, but averted his gaze before Harry could read anything into it.  
“Are you jealous?” he said, sounding incredulous.   
“Me?” Louis said finally looking back full on, his pointy finger pressed to his own chest. “I-”  
He didn’t finish, because they heard:  
“Are you two planning to get in anytime today? We have tunes to sing,” Niall said, hanging out of the window above the doors.   
“Yeah, coming,” Harry said and when he turned towards the door, Louis was already inside.

“This is fucking working!” Niall yelled a few hours later, laughing happily. “We are not hopeless!”  
Harry snorted, fighting against the urge to say “I told you so.” Instead, he found Louis, who kept avoiding his eyes all today’s session. Louis smiled at Niall, still turned away from Harry.  
“Yeah,” said Liam from his place on the sofa beside Niall. “You reckon we should remake them all for the album, then?”  
“Probably. Though we could make an EP first, see how people like it,” Louis said, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head. He looked at them all with a grin, but didn’t pause at Harry. Harry frowned.  
“So then tomorrow we try the other few, and then see what we can do about it. We need to work out who is best at what and assign verses and shit,” Louis said, now looking at the ceiling.  
“That’s it for today then?” Liam asked and Louis nodded.  
“I think so.”  
“Thank fuck, my throat is killing me,” Niall said, raising up and stretching.  
“Try herbal tea,” Harry said to him.  
“Look at you, professional singer Harry,” Niall said and patted his shoulder, as the three of them trotted to the entrance. “How was your first day back, by the way?”  
“Proper nice, yeah,” Harry said and nodded, patting his hand.  
“Well, then, bye lads. See you tomorrow,” Liam said, shrugging on his jacket.  
“You coming, Haz?” Niall said to him.  
“I’ll hang back, go without me.”  
Niall and Liam left and Harry walked back inside the studio, only to find Louis still in his chair with his feet against his desk. He looked up at him, tensing immediately.  
“Hey, Lou,” Harry said, coming closer and leaning against the side of the table, his arms folded. If he reached out he could touch Louis’ hair.  
“Hi,” Louis said, swallowing loudly. His gaze dropped to Harry’s thighs, where they were pressed against the table. Harry watched his eyes travel back up. “Something’s wrong?” Louis asked, when they made eye contact again. He dropped his feet, sitting straighter now.  
“I think we need to talk,” Harry said, his voice quiet. He could feel the air thickening around them.  
“About?” Louis said, standing up. The chair rustled against the floor as it rolled back and bumped against the wall. They were still staring at each other.  
“Us,” Harry said, gripping his shirt sleeves with both his hands. He itched to reach out and just touch Louis. Louis raised his eyebrows slowly.  
“What about us?”  
Harry could feel that feeling he got from looking at Louis lately rushing through him once again. It felt like balancing on a thin line, and he was afraid to cross it, but he knew he wanted to. He felt the same eleven years ago, on another sunny day, when they were outside, by that tree.  
“Will you say ‘no’ again?” Harry said quietly, watching Louis hold his breath.  
“I never really said ‘no’ to you, pup, did I?” he said just as quietly, a small smile on his face. He looked just as nervous as Harry did, his fingers trembling. Harry swallowed, gluing his gaze to his again.  
“I think I’m in love with you. Again,” he said and bit into his lip to stay grounded, because the feeling in Louis’ eyes was overwhelming. Louis stepped closer, unclenching Harry’s arms tentatively. Harry let him, and rested his hands on his waist, squeezing gently. Louis looked up.  
“Well, then. I think that will make our moms happy,” he said before he put one trembling hand behind Harry’s neck and gently pulled him closer, bringing their lips together.   
Harry stepped tentatively closer, feeling like if he so much as pulled him forward, Louis would just disappear into thin air. But he didn’t. Louis stepped the last inch of space between them closer, tightening his grip on Harry’s hair, his other hand resting on Harry’s shoulder. Harry felt goosebumps rise on his skin at their own accord, Louis’ weight against his — an anchor to the real world. He never thought he’d be kissing Louis Tomlinson in this life, not after that day by the tree. His fourteen year old would have shitted himself if he knew. If he only knew.


	10. 10

Harry gripped his guitar tighter, the weight of the instrument in his hands grounding. Niall nudged him in the shoulder, grinning.  
“Have you pissed yourself yet?”  
“Piss off,” Harry said quietly, and Niall and Liam snorted.   
Harry looked to his other side and Louis smiled at him, looking less tense than Harry felt.   
“I like your bandana, love,” Louis said, looking at Harry’s hair. Now that it was longish again he needed something to keep it out of his face.  
“Thanks, Lou.”  
Harry bent down and kissed him, their guitars bumping.  
“Oi, you two,” Niall hissed. “We are on stage in a minute!”  
Harry heard Liam shove Niall in the shoulder and Niall hissing:  
“Ouch! No, really, can’t you keep it to yourself for one minute?”  
Harry left a soft peck in the corner of Louis’ mouth and smiled at him before turning to the others.  
“Sorry, mate,” he said as he wiped his lips on the back of his hand. “I really can’t.”  
“You wanker,” Niall muttered, but fondly. Before Harry met him he didn’t know it was possible to curse at someone with love — but Niall Horan did just that. Harry fluffed up his hair and Niall almost jumped back. “Don’t mess up my hair!” he said and ruffled up Harry’s.  
“Are you quite finished yet?” Liam said. They heard applause start on stage and looked at each other, swallowing.  
“Shit,” they all said together.  
“Ready?” Louis said, looking at them all.  
“Fuck yes,” Niall gritted through his teeth. “Come on, lads, let’s show them what music is,” he said and walked towards the stage confidently. Louis snorted and followed, Liam and Harry right behind him. Harry nodded at Liam, and he nodded back as they stepped out on to the stage of their first ever solo concert, in London. Here is to the beginning of the tour.  
They took their respective places, all in one line, all four with microphones.   
“Who is ready for a sick concert?” Niall roared into his mic and the crowd answered him with cheers and more applause.   
As the other three started talking to the crowd, Harry took a moment to look around. All the attention wasn’t on him, like it was on the show a year ago. He shared the spotlight with three other men, two of his best friends, and, well, his one and only boyfriend. People were all watching them, and towards the front of the crowd Harry saw a red head and when George finally caught his eyes, he showed him two thumbs up, and Harry beamed at him.  
“Shall we begin?” he said, turning to the boys.   
“It’s high time we do, actually!” Louis said.  
“Here is Ready to Run, ladies and gentlemen, please enjoy,” Liam said right before they all started playing, Niall opening for them.  
Harry watched Louis sing, trying not to stare too much. He caught Louis glancing to the left of the crowd, and looked there himself. Harry’s breath caught. Zayn was leaning against the wall, his expression unreadable, his arms folded. Harry made himself look away, not sure how he felt about that particular fan. Instead, he kept glancing at Louis, who only nodded every time their eyes met, but they couldn’t talk on stage, so Harry made himself focus on the music; it was his first ever major concert, and he wasn’t going to waste it worrying.

“Hey, Zayn!” said Niall at the end of the concert, when they had only one more song to go. So, thought Harry, they weren’t pretending he wasn’t there. Okay.  
He looked to that wall again, as did the others. The whole crowd was watching as Zayn straightened up, his hands in fists, tense. He didn’t look angry, but he wasn’t in his element either.  
“You having a good time, mate?” Niall said, Harry could hear a grin in his voice. He couldn’t say he was feeling smiley himself. He could feel Louis beside him stiffen, standing there like a statue, and felt the need to get him off the stage, into his arms and never let go.  
He looked at Zayn and saw him nodding with a small, uncertain smile.  
“Wanna come up?” Liam said, stepping forward and reaching out his arm, as if he could hoist him up.  
Zayn shook his head, looking out right frightened.   
“It’s your show, mate!” Harry heard his quiet shout.  
“Come on, don’t be ridiculous!” Liam said, stepping even closer. He was standing on the edge of the stage now, while Zayn was still a good twenty feet away, staring.  
“It’s Where Do Broken Hearts Go next, you gotta sing it!” Niall said. Harry swallowed, watching Zayn. He suddenly realized the show was still on, there were a few thousand people watching this exchange. He saw Zayn glance sideways at Louis. Harry looked at him too, as Louis nodded, ever so slightly, his eyes still wide. Zayn nodded back and started walking forwards.  
“Come on, a round of applause for the old friend!” Liam said and the crowd cheered. Harry felt the tension break in the air and felt himself relax. Louis shifted closer to him on stage and Harry felt dark satisfaction at it.  
“You alright?” he whispered to him as Zayn climbed the stage, looking uncomfortable, but pleased. Louis looked at him and nodded, Harry grinned back. Louis answered with a small smile and turned to the others, nodding at Zayn again. Zayn caught Harry’s eye and smiled uncertainly. Harry could only smile back. He didn’t want to spoil the evening for anyone.   
They sang it all together, Zayn joining for the chorus and Liam’s verse, which they sang standing with their backs together. Harry watched as Louis sang again, watched him relax the further the song went, and so by the end of the show when they all bowed to the crowd, he felt him warm and happy by his side again, tension only a ghost in his eyes.  
They walked off the stage together, all five, Harry and Louis bringing the rear with their arms on each other’s shoulders. Zayn, Niall and Liam walked in front of them, all in one line.  
“So how have you been?” asked Niall. “Still working at school?”  
“Yep. Sick show, lads, by the way,” he said and even turned around to catch Harry and Louis’ eye.  
“Thanks,” they all said.  
“You didn’t make any music, then?” asked Liam as they filed into their changing room and plopped on the sofa and the armchair one by one. Harry and Louis took the armchair, Harry sitting on the armrest.  
“Nope. But I did write some stuff.”  
“Like songs?” Louis asked, and Harry thought he started tensing up again. He bumped his foot against his knee, trying to help him stay there with him.  
“Not really,” Zayn said, glancing at them. “Poetry, more like. I think I want to publish it, actually.”  
“Oh, that’s nice,” Liam said and clapped Zayn on the shoulder.  
“Thanks, mate.”  
They fell into silence, Harry shifting in his place. Zayn coughed.  
“Look, lads, I’m sorry for being a dick about leaving, alright?”  
They nodded, all of them, though Harry felt out of place. Then Niall asked, unsure,  
“You want to come back?”  
Harry felt Louis tense up immediately by his side. Zayn only smiled sadly.  
“No, mate, I stand by my words. Stages terrify me. You do well though. Nice that you all sing now,” he said as he squeezed Niall’s knee.  
“It was Harry’s idea, actually,” said Liam, and Harry flushed as they all looked at him.  
“Good job, lad,” Zayn said with a polite smile.  
“Thanks,” he said. “Erm, do you all want me to give you a moment? If you want to talk about something without me?” he said, looking around.  
“Don’t be stupid, H,” said Niall, frowning at him.  
“Yeah, Curls, there’s no need.”  
“Alright. Tea, then?”  
Harry felt sweaty and exhausted, still high off adrenaline, and frankly, all he wanted to do was take a shower, preferably with Louis, and then take him to bed.  
“Tea? Are you twelve?” said Niall, rising from the sofa. “Beer, more like,” he muttered, walking to their small fridge.   
“Actually,” Zayn said, rising up. “I think I’ll be off. I have to go now,” he said, looking at them all, Niall froze with a can of beer in his hand.  
“You sure?” Liam asked, bringing a tentative hand to his shoulder.  
“Yeah. I- I’ve got someone waiting for me, actually,” Zayn said, looking shy all of a sudden.  
“Oh,” Liam said, taking his hand back. “Alright.”  
“Stop by anytime, yeah?” Niall said, coming closer to hug him. Louis stood up, too, Harry watching him. When he had taken a few steps forward, he looked back at Harry.  
“You gonna get up or what?” he whispered and Harry hurried to oblige, pleased that Louis wanted him by his side. They clasped hands and stepped up to Zayn.  
“So you two are together, then?” Zayn said with another polite smile. He didn’t look irritated. Harry felt Louis’ grip on his hand tighten.  
“Yep. Almost a year now,” Louis said and smiled at Harry.  
“Yeah,” Harry said stupidly, staring at Louis. They looked at Zayn together.  
“Happy for you. Hope it all works out. You look great together,” Zayn said, looking at Louis.  
“Thank you,” Harry said, clapping him on the shoulder with his free hand.  
“Yeah. Hope it works out for you, too. Whoever is waiting for you there,” Louis said.  
They watched each other for a few silent seconds, and then Zayn just nodded.  
“Thanks, mate. See you. Sick show!” he said, stepping back and waving.  
When the door behind him closed, Harry felt Louis squeeze his hand again. Harry smiled at him, and Niall said from behind them:  
“If you gonna kiss, I’d much rather you wankers left now.”  
They turned to see Niall sipping on his beer, Liam rolling his eyes and getting a can for himself, too.  
“Excuse me, Niall,” Louis said. Niall just shrugged at him, Harry snorted.  
“Wanna go?” he asked Louis, squeezing his hand.  
“Sure. See you, Horan, Liam,” Louis waved at them as he and Harry took their coats and left.  
“Bye!” Harry grinned.  
“Use protection!” they heard Niall shout. “We don’t want any pregnancies in the band!”  
Harry heard Liam slap Niall before they closed the door and chuckled to himself.  
“Niall is the best,” he said to Louis as they started down the hall.  
“Debatable,” Louis said.  
Harry glanced at him, tensing up. Louis was looking straight ahead, his fingers limp in Harry’s grip.  
“Is it Zayn?” Harry asked quietly, squeezing his hand gently. Louis looked up at him, eyes wide.  
“What do you mean?”  
“Well, you aren’t really yourself,” Harry said as he pushed the doors open and they stepped out into the chilly April dawn.  
Louis looked at his feet while they walked towards the parking lot. Harry saw a few fans by the fence and waved at them. He heard a shriek and almost rolled his eyes, a smile nudging his lips. He brought his attention back to Louis, who was still looking at the ground.   
“Lou? You okay? If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s fine.”  
They stopped by Louis’ car and turned towards each other, Harry clasping both of Louis’ hands now. Louis sighed and looked up at him.  
“I just… I think I miss him,” Louis said, looking away. Harry felt his heart sink and bit his lip, refusing to let go of Louis’ hands.  
“As a friend?” he asked tentatively and Louis’ eyes shoot to his immediately, looking alarmed.  
“Of course as a friend, pup! I love you, you know that!” Louis said, looking scandalized, all worry forgotten. Harry grinned at the words.  
“You do?” he raised one eyebrow, still grinning. Louis’ mouth fell into a perfect ‘o’ and his cheeks flushed in the dim evening light.  
“Shit,” he whispered and Harry snorted. “I wanted it to be proper romantic! I didn’t want to say it like that! Shit, pup, I’m sorry,” he frowned and stepped closer, hugging Harry. Fans by the fence shrieked again and Harry ignored them.  
“It’s alright, I don’t mind,” he whispered, swinging them both in place. “I love you, too,” he said into his ear and kissed him right above it.  
“Hmm,” Louis mumbled through what Harry was sure was a grin to match his own. They squeezed each other tighter and Harry closed his eyes, breathing Louis in.  
“I planned to tell you it along with one story,” Harry said quietly. They stood hugging still, both relaxed.  
“What story?” Louis said and squeezed Harry’s waist through his t-shirt under the cardigan. Harry briefly thought that he probably wasn’t the manliest rockstar, but that’s alright. But back to the story.  
“Remember you asked me about the songs I sang at the show? And I promised to tell you who they were about?”  
“Do you really want to talk about your lover before me now?” Louis said, sounding genuinely confused.  
“I had no lover.”  
“Care to elaborate?”  
“They were written about you,” he said as Louis stiffened and leant back to look Harry in the eye.  
“But-” he stuttered, frowning. A smile was nudging his lips, but he wasn’t giving in yet, probably wanting to make sure Harry wasn’t joking. “How?”  
Harry smiled and kissed him on the nose.  
“I think I didn’t get over my crush on you till the end of my first year at uni. It was kinda pathetic really, but it all worked out. Anyway, I wrote Just a Little Bit of Your Heart a few years after your family left. I was still arse over tits for you,” he said, quoting Niall. Louis snorted quietly. Harry continued, squeezing his waist. “And I didn’t think we’d ever meet again, really. I mean, the odds were so small. It was the first song I ever wrote, actually. I mean, completed. I had ideas before, but this one just- I dunno,” Harry said, looking above Louis’ head into the gathering night, feeling his skin burn. “The feeling was very strong, so I kind of knew exactly what I wanted to say, you know?”  
Louis stood up and kissed Harry on the corner of his mouth. Harry closed his eyes, catching his lips in a proper kiss, glad for a chance to hide his embarrassment. When they parted, Louis whispered:  
“I’m really sorry you had to go through it all like that. I wish I could- I could-”  
“Love me back then?” Harry smiled, eyes still closed. Their foreheads were touching, breaths intertwined. “Don’t be silly, Lou.”  
“But I feel guilty when I think how strong you felt about me, and that I didn’t. I’m really sorry I hurt you, pup.”  
“I know, but don’t be. I’m glad it was like that.”  
“Really? Why?”  
“Because now I can be sure you do love me,” Harry said with a smile, nudging their noses. Louis leant, if possible, closer. “And I know I can love you properly, like a man.”  
“Are you saying fourteen year olds can’t love?” Louis said and Harry heard laughter in his voice.   
“I’m saying I know what I signed up for now. You know, dirty socks all over the flat, no coffee in bed in the morning, your beautiful morning breath, the usual,” Harry said through a huge, huge grin.  
“You fart at night,” Louis said. Harry didn’t need to open his eyes to know he was grinning, too.  
“I do no such thing.”  
“Yes you do-o,” Louis said in a sing-songy voice.  
“Love is evil.”  
“It is,” Louis said and kissed him again.  
“Wait,” Harry said, opening his eyes and leaning back. Louis frowned at him.  
“What is it?”  
“I’m not finished with the story.”  
“Oh.”  
“If I could Fly I wrote when I was at uni already. I was thinking of how it would be if you reciprocated and we dated. And I thought I’d probably come to you any time you told me you needed me. I just- I was sitting in the park that day, watching birds, and it came to me. If I could fly, I’d be coming right back home to you. I mean, you weren’t home exactly, you moved to London, but- yeah,” Harry finished intelligently.  
“You are such a beautiful soul, pup,” Louis said softly, looking at him with a feeling that got right to Harry’s bones. Harry smiled, feeling light as a feather.  
“I love you, Lou.”  
“I love you, too.”


End file.
